Honor-Bound
by The Incredible Muffin
Summary: Shepard had thought it was over. The Reapers were defeated, at the cost of her life. Or so she thought. Now, Shepard is faced with the unknown yet again. For the first time, she found herself missing the Reapers...
1. Stranger in a Strange Land

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. ALL MANNER OF HORRIBLE THINGS EXIST IN WARHAMMER, AND IT IS MY SICK JOY TO UNLEASH THEM UPON THE WORLD.**

 **First of all, the world of Warhammer, both Fantasy and 40K, is one of the best I've ever read. The lore is rich, albeit conflicting at times, the combat is awesome, and there's a dark tone to it all that a sick part of me really likes.**

 **I've been wanting to write something for Warhammer for a while, but couldn't get started on anything. Then I read Worth a Shot's Steel, Fire, Honor and Ruin. The premise was so cool that I just had to take a crack at it. So, with WaS's permission, I give you this little… thing. Enjoy!**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 1

Stranger in a Strange Land

" _How did it all start? Well, first it hurt. A lot. Then it got confusing. Again, a lot. After that… well, I kinda wished I could go back to confusing. At least then it wasn't terrifying."—General Alexia Shepard, at the beginning of her memoirs._

…

" _Do it, Shepard!"_

" _You can't stop what I have built, Shepard!"_

" _You must destroy the Reapers, Shepard!"_

" _Shepard… Shepard…"_

The hazy memories fell away, and Alexia Shepard finally awoke. Of course, she wished she hadn't; every inch of her body was filled with pain. However, it wasn't as bad as when she'd been on the Citadel—

 _Crap, the Citadel!_ Shepard remembered, and struggled to sit up. _Did the Crucible work? Are the Reapers destroyed? Where am I?_

"Father, she's waking up!" A young voice said, interrupting Shepard's frantic thoughts.

It was then that Shepard took stock of her surroundings. She certainly wasn't on the Citadel, or even on an Alliance ship. She was inside of a dusty room, not much bigger than some prison cells she'd seen, but the walls were made of stone. The bed she lay on wasn't very large, the frame was made of wood, and if she was seeing things right, there was honest-to-god _straw_ instead of a mattress.

 _Where the hell am I?_ Shepard wondered. _Since when do people fill beds with straw, or build houses out of stone? I need answers!_

Movement by the door caught her attention; despite her still-healing injuries, Shepard tensed, ready to resist if she had to. However, her tension turned to bemusement when a little girl, probably no older than five, peeked around the door to look at her. A small part of Shepard wanted to coo at the girl's big, adorable eyes, and the small flower that hung over her ear, partially obscured by curly brown hair.

Then the soldier pushed aside the woman, and Shepard began examining details. The girl's outfit was strange; a plain, ankle-length skirt made out of a rough fabric, far different than the synthesized crap that everyone wore. People may have questioned her preference for jeans and her N7 hoodie, but comfort won out over style, in her opinion.

But the girl's appearance didn't answer any of Shepard's questions; if anything, it raised more. Could it be possible that she was on a colony world, one that had shunned modern technology? If so, what reason would anyone have for taking her here? Her injuries may not have been critical, but they were bad enough that she should have had proper medical care.

 _Then again, ever since Cerberus rebuilt me, I've healed pretty fast,_ Shepard thought.

"Excuse me, lady, are you feeling better?" The little girl asked.

Shepard blinked for a moment, then smiled. "I don't know, sweetie. I just woke up."

The girl nodded. "I'll get Father Heinkel, he'll help you! And my name is Marisa, not sweetie."

Before Shepard could reply, Marisa was gone. _Father Heinkel, huh? What's a priest going to do for me?_

While she waited, Shepard took a look at herself. Her injuries had been cleaned and bandaged, but other than the strips of—hopefully—clean cloth, she was naked. That didn't particularly bother her, since her training had quickly desensitized her modesty, but it would have been nice to have _some_ kind of protection, even if her armor had been reduced to charred scraps.

A clanking noise heralded Father Heinkel's arrival nearly half a minute before the man actually arrived. When Shepard saw him, her preconceptions about meeting a priest were shattered. The man was like no priest she'd ever seen before; he was a giant of a man, easily over six feet tall, with a bald head. Under his open robe, she could see heavy armor, polished to a sheen, and on his back was an enormous hammer, while a thick book was held at his waist by a length of chain.

Once again, Shepard noticed that something was off; the armor the priest wore—and what kind of priest wore armor?—was nothing like the ceramic type she was used to. It reminded her more of medieval plate armor, and the big hammer only added to the look.

Heinkel pulled over a wooden chair from the corner of the room before placing it near Shepard's bed and sitting in it. Shepard would swear that the weight of the man made her bed shake.

"Hello," the man said simply; Shepard was surprised by both the strength and the gentleness behind the voice, which sounded younger than his features suggested. He looked to be in his forties, maybe even older.

"Um, hi?" Shepard said, unsure of how to react.

"It is good that you are awake," Heinkel said. "It has been three days since we found you; had you been asleep any longer, we would have had to replace the covers again."

Shepard didn't understand, until the trace of a foul odor reached her; between that and the bucket in the far corner of the room, it wasn't hard to figure out what Heinkel meant. She couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed, though to be fair, she'd probably gone through something similar at the Lazarus facility.

Heinkel must have seen her discomfort, because he only smiled. "Do not worry, no one will fault you for being Human, Miss…"

Clearly, she wasn't a prisoner; no Human prison would have a little girl watch a captive. Until she knew more, though, Shepard was going to keep some information to herself.

"Shepard," she said at last, "Alexia Shepard."

Heinkel stroked his chin. "An interesting name you have, Miss Shepard. I am Father Heinkel, and I have been tending to your wounds since you were brought to my abbey."

Shepard smiled at him. "Thank you. I don't want to be rude, but can I ask some questions? And have some clothes?"

Heinkel nodded. "I will tell you what I can. As for clothes… the only ones I have here are for men, but if you wait, I can have a dress brought to you from town."

"I don't mind wearing pants," Shepard said nonchalantly. "In fact, I prefer it."

The priest looked stupefied for a moment, then shrugged. "Very well. I will be back soon."

Once he got up and left, Shepard began examining her injuries more closely. The bleeding had stopped, though she had quite a few scabs that, without proper treatment, would scar rather badly. Most of those could be concealed by clothing, but the one on her face—the reflection of which, she'd seen in Heinkel's breastplate—was another matter. Once she removed the thin bandage, she traced the wound; it started at her left temple, just under her red hair, making a jagged line down through part of her eyebrow, across the bridge of her nose and her right cheek, and ending at the back of the right side of her jaw. It wasn't a pretty sight, but hopefully, it wouldn't be too wide once the redness faded.

When Heinkel returned, he saw her removing her bandages; he opened his mouth to protest, but he apparently noticed that Shepard's injuries no longer needed bandages.

"I heal pretty fast," Shepard said, hoping that the man wouldn't pry further.

Thankfully, Heinkel only nodded and handed her a bundle. "I believe these should fit you."

Once again, he left, giving Shepard privacy as she got dressed. The clothes—brown trousers and a dark-green tunic, along with a pair of sturdy boots—were rougher than what she was used to, they pulled on her injuries, and were a little too big, but she managed. There was no bra, but there was something that looked like underwear—smallclothes, a distant part of her mind said. To deal with the lack of a bra, Shepard knotted the back of the tunic and slid that under her belt; that would tighten the shirt and help keep a certain part of her from bouncing around too much.

A loud cough from her signaled that Heinkel could return; unlike many men and women Shepard had met over the years, the priest didn't spend half a minute undressing her with his eyes. Granted, if he'd been taking care of her, he probably didn't have to, but Shepard appreciated it all the same.

"If you are feeling up to it," Heinkel said, "I can show you around the abbey; the fresh air will do us both good, and you can ask your questions."

Shepard nodded and followed after him; she tried not to wince at every step, but it was obvious that she was far from a hundred percent. Hell, _Joker_ could probably beat her in a fistfight right now.

Thinking about the wisecracking pilot made her falter; was Joker, or any of her friends and teammates, alive? She had pushed everything away in the pursuit of stopping the Reapers, but now that her mind was starting to clear, not knowing the fate of her friends made her worry. Garrus, Liara, and Tali, especially; those three had been seriously injured just before she'd made it to the Citadel.

Shepard closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath; until she knew more about what was going on, the only thing her worry would do was distract her. For the moment, she had to stop being Shepard, the person, and had to be Shepard, the soldier.

"So, where am I?" She asked, as the two of them walked onto an open part of a wall, which was exposed the cool, night air.

"In my abbey, a few hundred paces from the village of Wolfshead," Heinkel said.

"Uh-huh," Shepard glanced up at him. "And where is that?"

"Within the province of Talabecland, not far from the border of Sylvania," Heinkel looked at her as it was obvious.

The look was starting to make Shepard feel stupid, but she pressed on. "Okay, I—"

"You must have taken quite the blow to the head before you were found," Heinkel interrupted.

Shepard nodded slowly. "Maybe you could tell me what you know, and I could retrace my steps or something?"

Heinkel stared at her for a few moments longer, then turned his face to a silhouette of small buildings, lit up by torches. Shepard realized that it must have been the village.

"There was a loud crashing noise, as if Sigmar Himself had taken His hammer to something. Several villagers went to investigate, and found you at the bottom of a crater, but no sign of whatever made the crater." Heinkel gave her a strange look before continuing. "You wore strange clothing, but it crumbled to pieces when you were moved. After you were brought here, I tended to you. That is all I know."

Shepard felt a sinking feeling in her gut. "All right, I've got another one for you. Does the term 'Citadel Council' mean anything to you?"

Heinkel frowned thoughtfully, then shook his head. "No, I cannot say that it does."

"What about Turians?" Shepard asked. "Asari? Krogan? Geth?" Each question was answered in the negative, so Shepard moved on to the one she dreaded. "What about 'Systems Alliance'?"

"I am sorry, but I have not." Heinkel sounded genuinely sorry, for all the good it did Shepard.

 _Something is_ really _wrong here._

…

Despite being able to walk, Shepard had become very tired after that, and had returned to her bed. Over the next few days, she recovered more and more; even her new scars were losing their angry, red marking. Still, she wanted to actually _do_ something; she had always been someone who preferred action over inaction.

Thankfully, Heinkel was able to keep her from getting bored. Playing the part of partial amnesiac had netted Shepard a teacher, albeit one who freely admitted that he didn't know everything, and the things he had information on were largely generalized. But Shepard was just happy to be learning; one of her secret joys was discovering things she'd never known before.

Apparently, her suspicions were correct; she wasn't on Earth, or a Human colony. In fact, if her study of the stars was right, she wasn't even in her own _galaxy_! The worst part was that, until she found out how she arrived on this world, she had no idea how to get back home. For now, she was stuck here, and if she wanted to survive this world without modern technology, she was going to have to learn everything she could.

The nation she was now in was called the Empire; it was a powerful collection of Human territories, each of which was led by an Elector Count, and the Empire itself was ruled by an Emperor, who was usually elected from among the Counts. Despite wars, plagues, civil unrest, and catastrophes of all kinds, the Empire had endured for over twenty-five hundred years. To Shepard, it was kind of inspiring.

There were other Human nations, such as Kislev, to the north, and Bretonnia, to the west, the Border Princes to the south, as well as several more to the far-east; the Empire was at peace with Kislev, the Border Princes, and Bretonnia, more or less, as well as a few other minor nations. Further north than Kislev was Norsca, a land of barbarians that raided the Empire often. But there was far more to this world than just Humans.

Shepard found it odd that, for a world without space-travel, there were multiple intelligent races—some more than others, apparently—on one planet. There were the Dwarfs, stout, bearded folk that had been the Empire's most stalwart ally since its founding. There were the Elves, though there was apparently more than one type, and all of them were mysterious.

The Dwarfs and some of the Elves were certainly friendlier than some of the other races that Heinkel described. There were the Beastmen, a race of mutant monsters that wanted nothing more than to kill and devour all of humanity. Sitting at just slightly more intelligence than the Beastmen were the Orcs and Goblins; both greenskin races were cruel, vicious monsters that would burn the Empire down with a laugh. Another rather stupid race were the Ogres, large humanoids that could, and would, eat a fully-armored knight, along with his horse and weapons if he got the chance. Other monstrous creatures included Giants and Trolls, but even the Orcs were considered civilized in comparison to those stupid monsters.

Then there were… other creatures. Shepard had already started to believe that she had ended up in some kind of fantasy world, but when Heinkel started talking about _Vampires_ … well, she had almost giggled when her first thought was that she hoped they didn't sparkle. The amusement quickly faded, however, when Shepard saw the pure hatred and disgust in Heinkel's eyes when he spoke about the Vampires and their undead servants.

When she mentioned it, the priest only said that Sylvania had a large amount of Vampires, and they would occasionally strike out at the Empire. While that would be a good reason to get mad, Heinkel's barely-restrained fury felt more like it was born of a personal experience; Shepard didn't pry, though, instead prodding the lessons along.

It turned out that that was about the sum total of Heinkel's knowledge of the wider world. He was able to provide a map of what people referred to as the 'Old World', though he admitted that it was old and probably out of date. Still, Shepard quickly memorized it; strangely enough, the geography was similar to a map of Europe… well, what Europe would look like if she was drunk.

After a few more days of being cooped up, Shepard had pestered Heinkel enough to at least show her around the nearby village. She found the place… quaint. In many ways, it was like stepping back in time to medieval Europe, though she was fairly certain that people from Earth hadn't decorated pretty much every building with skulls and twin-tailed comets.

The villagers were cordial enough with Shepard, though they still regarded her warily. This could have been attributed to her intimidating scars, her mysterious origins, or the fact that she was a woman wearing men's clothing. Considering the similarities between here and ancient times on Earth, Shepard was willing to bet that the latter was more likely.

Only one person seemed to have no problem approaching Shepard, if the innocent smile on Marisa's face was anything to go by.

"Are you feeling better now?" The little girl asked sweetly, and Shepard resisted the scoop the child up and hug her.

Instead, she knelt down and patted her on the head. "Yeah, I'm doing a lot better now. Thank you for asking."

Marisa smiled again, then turned to Heinkel, who had been Shepard's shadow since entering the village. "Father, I finished my prayers. May I go play now?"

Heinkel's own smile was indulgent. "Of course. Just don't leave the village."

The girl nodded and dashed off to join a group of children. Shepard smiled at the priest. "She's a nice girl. Where are her parents?"

Shepard realized she'd made a mistake when Heinkel's smile disappeared. "Dead. They were killed in a raid last summer. There were far more bandits than normal, and the militia was unable to stop them all."

"I'm sorry. I know what that's like." Shepard worked quickly to cover her mistake. "You just made me remember something. My parents were killed by… by bandits as well."

Technically, the Batarians that had attacked Mindoir were slavers, not bandits, but it was about as close as possible. Not that she was going to mention aliens or other planets; from the descriptions of other races provided by Heinkel, Humans had to be very intolerant of most in order to survive.

Heinkel looked thoughtful. "I have heard that seeing or hearing familiar things can help a damaged mind. Perhaps bringing you here was wise after all."

Shepard was about to say something witty, but a terrified scream cut her off. She and Heinkel turned towards the source, and saw one of the children from before running towards them; the child, a little boy, was being chased by a horde of shambling… things. After a moment, Shepard realized that they were Human, albeit with decaying flesh and staggering gait.

Zombies. The village was under attack by zombies.

"To arms!" Heinkel bellowed, his voice loud enough to reach all the way back to his abbey. "Gather your weapons, men of the Empire! To me, and we will drive back these undead abominations!"

Ignoring Shepard, the priest charged towards the zombies, pulling the giant hammer off his back just before he collided with them. Shepard watched, almost dumbstruck, as the gentle giant of a man she'd known for the past week went into a nearly berserk fury, smashing apart zombies in twos or threes. In the distance, she could hear the bells of the abbey tolling; hopefully, that would signal for reinforcements.

Shepard wanted to shake her head. What was she doing? She was a soldier, and there were people in danger! So what if she wasn't completely healed? That had never stopped her before! So what if she was out of her element? That didn't mean she was out of her league!

A man ran past, his arms laden with swords; in one quick motion, Shepard snatched one off the top of the pile. Ignoring the man's surprise, Shepard ran towards the nearest zombie, her borrowed sword held in both hands.

Shepard had never used a sword before in her life. In fact, the only experience she had with a sword outside of a museum was when she'd fought Kai Leng, and that had been a fairly light katana. The hunk of iron in her hands was almost as long as her arm and was as wide as her hand; Kai Leng's blade had barely been the width of three of her fingers.

Since she had no skill with a sword beyond 'hit them with it', that was the tactic she settled on. With a grunt, she swung her sword at the zombie's neck; the blade bit halfway through, but the zombie continued to stagger towards her. Once Shepard pulled the sword free, the zombie's head flopped off, the decaying muscles offering no resistance. However, the body continued to move.

 _What the fuck!?_ Shepard thought, even as she clumsily ducked a flailing arm, while trying not to gag at the stench of rotting flesh. _I thought zombies died when you got rid of the head!_

"Hack 'em up!" A nearby villager shouted, proving his point by using an axe to chop another zombie into pieces.

Gripping her sword tightly, Shepard swung twice more, severing her target's arms at the elbows, then shoulder-checking it to the ground, where it tried in vain to get up. In the back of her mind, Shepard knew that, with her injuries still healing, she'd feel terrible later, but at the moment, adrenalin was keeping the pain at bay. She moved on to another zombie and repeated the process; it reminded her of fighting husks back home, but those only needed a few punches to kill, though they were a lot faster.

In the blur of combat, Shepard wasn't sure how the battle was going, but so long as she was still alive, she figured that things were okay. As she and another villager tag-teamed another zombie, she heard a familiar voice.

"Come, men of the Empire! In Sigmar's name, we will stop these monsters!"

"Hey, you!" Shepard glanced at the villager next to her. "Come on, we should rally with the Father!"

Shepard looked around and saw that the zombies were, for the most part, grouping around a distant figure that glowed with golden light. Was that Heinkel? How was he glowing? Shoving those thoughts back for later, Shepard and a few villagers joined the rest to fight the undead. Though they were outnumbered at least two to one, the living fighters were better coordinated, and several of them were following Shepard's example of only doing enough damage to put a zombie out of the fight, rather than waste time completely destroying it.

After a few minutes of chaotic melee, Shepard found herself fighting at Heinkel's side; the golden light was so bright, but rather than impede her, Shepard fought even harder. The light _did_ hurt the zombies, though; any that got within a few paces of the Warrior Priest crumbled to ash.

"You're really good at this!" Shepard commented as she hacked a zombie's hands off; she knew that she was getting better if she was being snarky.

Rather than make a witty comeback, like Garrus would have done, Heinkel only gritted his teeth. "Purging evil is my highest calling."

Normally, Shepard would have tried to continue _some_ kind of conversation, especially since it seemed that they were winning, but then a shadow fell over the village. Shepard risked looking up and saw that a mass of dark clouds was moving unusually fast, but then came to a stop once the sun was obscured.

"Stand firm!" Heinkel roared. "Sigmar is with us this day! We shall not—urk!"

It all happened so fast. One second, Heinkel was an unwavering pillar of strength; the next, his head was ripped off in a fountain of blood. Shepard flinched at the sudden brutality, then immediately searched for Heinkel's killer; she'd grieve for the man later, if she survived.

 _When, not if,_ she corrected herself. _I_ am _going to get ho—what the hell!?_

In the blink of an eye, half a dozen villagers were dead, and standing in the midst of their corpses was… something. It looked mostly Human, but the skin that wasn't covered in thick, baroque armor was far too pale. The thing's facial features were too sharp, its eyes shone unnaturally, and its teeth were too long and too sharp.

It was a Vampire.

Shepard narrowed her eyes and held her sword out in front of her. This bastard might have killed Heinkel and six more men in less than a minute, but that wouldn't stop her from fighting until the bitter end.

To her surprise, the Vampire didn't attack her; he did, however, wave one arm, beckoning forth another wave of zombies, as well as walking skeletons that held spears and shields. The undead fought around them, pushing the villagers back, but leaving Shepard and the Vampire alone.

"You are… strange," the Vampire said in a raspy voice.

Shepard didn't blink. "And you're a murdering asshole."

The Vampire didn't react to her words. "Your blood smells different. You will be an interesting prize for my lord."

Before Shepard could move, or even tell him to go to hell, the Vampire was in her face; a small part of her realized that she'd actually _seen_ him move this time, but by then, it was too late. The Vampire's armored fist drove into her stomach, forcing the wind out of her; Shepard's sword fell from her hand, but she still tried to fight, lashing out and punching the Vampire in a place that most males didn't like being punched.

Unfortunately, the spot she'd hit was armored, and the Vampire didn't give her a chance to try again. With a swift chop, he struck her in the back of her head; Shepard fell to the ground, and the last thing she saw before blacking out Heinkel's severed head, his slack face seeming to gaze into her very soul...

 **Yeah… that escalated quickly. So, this is shorter than my usual chapters, but about the right size for one of my beginnings. Expect future updates to be a lot bigger. In fact, you can count on it; I actually don't like small chapters (by small, I mean less than 6000 words).**

 **I want you to keep in mind that I have never written a fantasy-based story before, so this is unfamiliar territory for me. However, after reading WaS's story, a whole bunch of Warhammer Fantasy stuff, and watching the Lord of the Rings movies, I decided to give this a go.**

 **Next Chapter: Shepard wakes up in an unknown place… again. Can she escape, and how much of her soul will be lost in the process?**

 **Muffins for the Muffin God!**


	2. Blood for Blood

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. I HAVE THE RIGHT TO MAKE SHEPARD MISERABLE, THOUGH I CAN ALSO MAKE HER AWESOME.**

 **First of all, I'd like to thank all of you who have favorited and followed this story. There's been quite a lot of support. You guys rock!**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 2

Blood for Blood

" _Let me tell you something about Vampires. They may act like you and me, they may sound like you and me, but inside, they're animals. They only want one thing, and that's to feed. The only thing that kept me alive was the fact that those guys are some arrogant sons of bitches."—General Alexia Shepard, while drinking._

…

Shepard groaned as she regained consciousness. Getting knocked out always sucked, which was why she did her best to avoid it as much as possible. When she opened her eyes, she was both relieved and confused to see that she was not in a cell. If it _was_ a cell, then it was the nicest in history; the room was clean, decorated with rugs and tapestries, and faintly lit by candles. There was a mirror on the far side of the room, opposite the door.

When Shepard got up—from a _very_ soft bed—she felt the now-familiar tug of her healing injuries, but something else was strange. Her entire torso felt constricted, as if something was squeezing her. Only once she was standing did Shepard look down at herself.

 _Oh, fuck no,_ she thought.

If there was one thing Shepard had an irrational hatred for, it was wearing a dress. The last time she had worn one had been when she'd helped Kasumi rob Donovan Hock, and it had taken all her considerable willpower not to strangle Kasumi for making her do it. It wasn't that she hated the style or the femininity; she could never explain why she hated dresses and skirts.

And now she was wearing one. It was long, brushing the floor, and colored a deep crimson, with white frills around the sleeves and hem. Her shoulders were bare, but that was the only freedom she had. The upper half was certainly one size too small for her; between that and the corset that might have been crushing her ribs, it was a wonder that she could still breathe.

A small part of her mind recognized that the dress was actually quite elegant. The rest of her mind ruthlessly quashed that part, especially when she noticed the plunging neckline; with the corset pressing them up, it was a miracle that her breasts hadn't popped out.

 _I am going to kill whoever did this to me!_ Shepard raged.

Before she could do more than swear bloody vengeance, the door swung open and two skeletons walked in. Unlike the ones from the village— _shit, I hope at least some of those people survived,_ Shepard thought—these ones had much larger weapons and were wearing ornate, if rusty, armor. Neither of them said anything, and it was doubtful that they could, but from the way they were standing, Shepard was able to grasp their purpose.

"You're my escorts?" She asked; to her surprise, one of the skeletons nodded. "Fine, let's get this over with."

With one skeleton in front of her and the other behind, Shepard knew that there was nowhere for her to run. At the very least, she knew she _could_ run; rather than wear high-heeled shoes, she'd been given a pair of somewhat comfortable slippers.

Shepard was brought to what looked like a large dining hall. A huge table, almost running the entire length of the room, was placed in the center. A dozen Vampires were seated at that table; most were male, but there were three women among them. Each of them had several villagers connected to their chair by lengths of chain; every man, woman and child had a manacle around their neck, and all but one were dead, completely drained of blood. As Shepard watched in horror, one of the Vampires dragged a woman—the last living person in the room, besides Shepard—towards him and sunk his fangs into her neck; the screams of terror and pain quickly faded to whimpers before she died.

The Vampire—Shepard recognized him as the who who'd killed Heinkel and knocked her out—tossed the drained corpse aside, then licked off a few droplets of blood that had fallen onto his hand.

 _If nothing else, I'm killing that asshole,_ Shepard thought viciously.

"Ah, it seems that our guest has arrived," one of the Vampires said. This one was taller than the others, his black armor was more ornate, as was the sword that leaned against his chair. From his equipment, and the way the others subtly looked at him, Shepard pegged him as the guy in charge.

"I didn't have much choice," Shepard said calmly; she had initially planned on using as much charm as possible to avoid getting killed, but after seeing what these monsters did to their victims—nothing at all like the romantic Vampires she'd seen in ancient vids—she wasn't feeling very charming. Mostly, she was just pissed.

Besides, she had a feeling that the Vampires were going to try and kill her, no matter how charming she was.

The lead Vampire nodded in an almost sheepish way. "True, but my kind rarely has willing visitors. I hope you don't mind your new attire, but guests in my halls should be properly dressed."

 _Yeah, right,_ Shepard thought, _you just wanted a good look at my chest. I guess some things never change._

At least Shepard was used to that kind of treatment; until Miranda had come along—and even then, it was hard to say, according to Garrus when he'd been drunk—the only women Shepard had known with larger breasts had been Asari. Thankfully, most people backed off when they realized who she was, but here, in another universe, she had no such protection.

She apparently wasn't the only one who doubted the Vampire leader's word; one of the female Vampires looked like she wanted to scoff. If the leader noticed, he didn't show it.

"Ah, but where are my manners?" He smiled, showing off his pointed fangs. "I am Lord Otto von Carstein, eighteenth of the von Carstein line, and this is my home, Blutschnitter Castle."

Shepard blinked as her translator implant—the only thing she had from her home that worked—turned the Reikspiel, which sounded similar to German, translated the name to 'Bloodreaper Castle'. It was an appropriate name for the home of a bunch of Vampires.

Other than the cheesy name, Shepard didn't feel anything about the introductions. If Otto was trying to impress or intimidate her, he had failed. Now, it was her turn.

"I'm Commander Alexia Shepard," she said, "I'm with the Alliance Navy, and I am also a Spectre for the Citadel Council." When all that got her was confused looks, she smiled. "See? I can say stuff that doesn't mean shit to you, too."

The Vampire woman who had scoffed before rolled her eyes. "Impertinent scum. Otto, why do you bother with this farce? Just feed on the woman and be done with it."

Otto shook his head in exasperation. "Dear cousin, must you be so impatient? It is so rare that we have a guest, and considering the strange scent, I felt it only appropriate to extend some measure of courtesy."

The woman—Otto's cousin, though Shepard suspected it wasn't a familial connection; other than sharp features and fangs, none of them looked anything alike—snarled at him, and Shepard didn't blame her. Otto had spoken to her as if he was talking to a child.

 _Then again, I don't mind,_ Shepard thought. _The only reason I'm alive right now is because he's playing with his food._

Otto turned away from his 'cousin' with an air that suggested he was done talking to her. "Now then, 'Commander' Shepard, why don't you sit down? I believe we have something to discuss."

Shepard glanced at the seat that Otto gestured to; there was a plate and silverware, but no food. It was probably for the sake of whatever courtesy Otto's clearly deranged mind had settled on following. She hesitated for just a moment, but without any weapons, backup, or a plan, she had to play by the Vampire's rules.

 _At least for now,_ she thought as she sat down, her long sleeves concealing the knife that lay near her plate.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Shepard asked, trying not to look at the corpses.

Otto smiled. "In a moment. Henrietta?" He turned towards the female Vampire who'd spoken up earlier. "Could you bring in your new daughter? I do believe she needs to feed now."

The Vampire woman sniffed, but waved her hand elegantly; a moment later, a small form dashed into the room.

 _Oh, no,_ Shepard thought in dismay as little Marisa, now a Vampire, took a goblet from the table and swallowed its contents. The girl smiled at Shepard, even as a trickle of blood dripped down her chin.

Shepard struggled to keep her emotions in check, when all she wanted to do was scream at the unfairness of it all. That little girl had done nothing wrong, so why had she been turned into a bloodsucking monster? Once again, there was someone she couldn't save; it was Mordin, Thane, Legion, Anderson—and even thinking about the man made her heart ache—and all the other people she'd lost, all over again.

 _Everyone I meet gets hurt or worse._

Shepard gave herself a mental shake; now, of all times, was the worst possible time to go down that road. She could wallow in regret when she wasn't doing her best not to die.

"Now that that's out of the way," Otto said, "Richard brought you here because your blood smelled different. When I first saw you, I thought you were Human, but your blood… it smells like steel and lightning. No Human blood smells like that. What _are_ you?"

Shepard smiled and shrugged. "That's a long story. The short version is that I've had my brain rewritten twice, and that was before I died." The stares from the Vampires reminded her that her 'hosts' were of the undead variety. "Yeah, I was as dead as they come. Then I was brought back to life, and so much stuff was used to do it, so much replaced the original me, that I've wondered if I _am_ still Human."

The sheer madness of her statement astonished most of the Vampires, but though Otto raised an eyebrow, he remained composed.

"Fascinating," Otto said, leaning back in his chair. "But you are clearly alive; your heart beats, your skin is warm, and you need sustenance like any other mortal. You are not undead."

"I never said I was," Shepard said. "I said that I was brought back to life. I was literally restored from death."

"Impossible!" one of the Vampires sputtered.

"Says you," Shepard shrugged, though she remembered all the jokes she'd shared with her friends about her technically being a zombie. "Honestly, with all I've seen, not much surprises me anymore."

"Otto, we clearly aren't going to get anything of use from someone so delusional," Henrietta snapped. "Stop playing with your food already!"

Otto sighed dramatically. "I suppose you're right, dear cousin. Still, I'd hate for her strange blood to affect my palate. Your daughter can have her; she needs to feed more than I, anyway."

Marisa smiled brightly and tugged on Shepard's sleeve—thankfully, not the one that had a knife concealed within. "Come on, Miss Shepard! Let's go play!"

Shepard was starting to get the feeling that Marisa had no idea what had happened to her, that she needed to drink the blood of Humans to survive. Either she was simply too young to understand, or her mind couldn't handle that information. No matter the reason, Shepard realized that it presented an opening for her. The only problem was that just the thought of what she'd have to do made her sick.

Otto waved his hand in a magnanimous gesture. "You may go with the little one, 'Commander'. Just know that you will be watched until she is done playing and decides to feed."

Shepard didn't respond as she let Marisa pull her out of her chair and down a hallway. The two skeletal warriors that had escorted her here followed.

 _Please don't make me do this,_ Shepard thought at Marisa, her free hand nearly shattering the handle of her stolen knife. _Please, don't make me kill you…_

…

"Forward, men! We must reach the castle and be prepared for battle before sundown!" Kurt Helborg, Reiksmarshal of the Empire, watched in satisfaction as ranks of soldiers, knights and war machines moved through the Talabecland fields.

Helborg had read the reports alongside the Emperor, Karl Franz, about a recent upswing in attacks along the Sylvania border. Rather than wait for whatever Vampire that was behind it to build up an army before attacking, Karl Franz had ordered Helborg to take a full third of the Reiksguard Knights, a force of Reikland soldiers, help from whatever Knightly Orders he could find along the way, and as many forces as he could obtain from Talabheim—the main victim of the attacks—and eliminate the enemy before it became a major threat.

It had taken Helborg and his army several days of hard marching to reach Talabheim, and it seemed that fortune was smiling on the Empire, first because the full might of two Knightly Orders—the Order of the Golden Hammer, devout worshipers of Sigmar who wielded two-handed warhammers in homage of the first Emperor, and the Knights of Ironrock, a grim-faced lot that always carried a shard of stone from their main keep on their person—had joined them; second, Talabheim scouts had already discovered the Vampires' lair. Helborg took command of military operations, waited a day for his men and beasts to rest, then set them on another fast march, their trail blazed by units of Talabecland light infantry that knew the area.

He would have preferred waiting another day, but he had received a report about another village being attacked, with no survivors discovered. The attacks were becoming more frequent, which meant that if the Imperial forces delayed any further, yet more innocents would be at risk.

"Reiksmarshal, at our current pace, we should arrive within the hour," General Schwarzwald of Talabheim reported as he brought his horse up alongside Helborg's.

The Reiksmarshal noticed the other man's fingers drumming nervously on the hilt of his sword; his frown was hidden by his large mustache, but his disapproval was still apparent, and Schwarzwald flinched. The man had proven himself capable when getting the troops of the combined Reikland and Talabecland army mobilized, but he apparently had an aversion to combat. At least with the undead, anyway; Schwarzwald had seemed fine with going into battle until Helborg had told him where they were going, and he had been rather twitchy ever since.

"Steel yourself, General," Helborg ordered curtly. "The enemy may be monstrous, but we cannot falter. We have defeated these abominations before, and we shall do so again."

The utter conviction in the Reiksmarshal's voice and in his eyes had the desired effect; Schwarzwald straightened in his saddle and nodded.

"Of course, sir. I'll ride ahead and tell our forward regiments to advance in battle-readiness."

"Very good, General; you bring credit to your province, your Empire, and to yourself." As Schwarzwald rode off, Helborg tightened his grip around the hilt of the Solland Runefang. The Emperor had tasked him with the destruction of the Empire's enemies, and in Sigmar's name, he would not fail.

…

"Come on, come on!" Marisa tugged again at Shepard's sleeve as she led the way through the winding corridors of the castle. "There's a pretty place that we can play!"

"Wait a minute, kid," Shepard said, pulling to a stop. "I'd love to… to play with you, but it's really hard to do stuff in this dress. Do you know where my other clothes went?"

Marisa frowned in that thoughtful way that children did when they realized that there was something between what they wanted and they were presented with a solution. If it weren't for the pale skin, fangs, and the now-dried blood that had dripped down her chin and onto her child-sized dress, Shepard would have thought Marisa was adorable. Now, though, all she felt was self-loathing for what she would do.

"Oh!" Marisa smiled again. "I know where those are! After that, we can go play!"

Shepard nodded weakly, then glanced out of the corner of her eye. The two armored skeletons stalked after them, not in a menacing way, but it was impossible to forget that they were there. Shepard was already working on what moves she would have to use to take them down.

Marisa guided Shepard to another part of the castle, stopping in front of a dusty door. Shepard opened it, and while she did find her clothes amidst many more—suggesting dozens, if not hundreds of people had been brought here before her to become food; it pissed her off—there wasn't another door where she could ditch her tagalongs. It seemed that she would have to go through with her plan after all.

Shepard quickly changed, though she left the corset on underneath her tunic—after loosening it enough for her to effectively breathe—since it was more effective than anything else on hand. Thankfully, the sleeves on her tunic were long enough to hide the knife.

Another thing she was thankful for—and hated herself for it—was that the corridor Marisa had taken them to was secluded and fairly narrow, making it hard for the skeletons to use their large glaive-like swords.

"Oh, good!" Marisa smiled and clapped her hands when Shepard emerged from the room. "Are you ready?"

Shepard swallowed bile, then knelt down to look Marisa in the eye and gave her a watery-eyed smile. "I'm so sorry, sweetie."

Before Marisa could react, the knife slid into Shepard's hand, and was then rammed into Marisa's chest, piercing her heart. The little Vampire instinctively tried to replace the blood pouring from her chest by lunging at her attacker, her fangs bared, but Shepard was stronger, more experienced, and fueled by adrenalin. She tossed Marisa aside to die, then rushed at the skeletons.

One raised its sword, but Shepard grabbed its wrists, keeping it from swinging down, then lashed out with a kick that shattered a knee, followed by a twist that broke an elbow. Without a second hand to support its weapon, the skeleton dropped it; Shepard shoved it over with a shoulder, then scooped up the fallen sword and swung upward in a clumsy block as the second skeleton attacked. Rather than engage her opponent in a proper swordfight, Shepard ducked and rolled between its legs, grabbed the middle of the blade with one hand while keeping the other on the hilt, and made a crouched spin that severed one leg and shattered the knee of the other. She finished off both skeletons by driving the sword through their skulls.

As Shepard stood there, panting, she heard a faint sob. She turned to see Marisa, curled up in a ball, her hands feebly clutching at the knife in her chest. Her skin was starting to dry and shrivel like old parchment. She looked up at Shepard with sunken, shriveled eyes.

"It hurts," she said, her voice like sandpaper rubbed together. "It hurts so much."

"I know," Shepard said; she wanted to rush over and comfort the dying child, but at the same time, the soldier in her knew that an animal was most dangerous when it was like this. "I'm so sorry. But it'll go away, and when it does… you'll see your mommy and daddy again."

Marisa opened her mouth to say something, but whatever she was going to say, Shepard never found out, because the Vampire crumbled to dust, leaving only her bloodstained dress behind. Shepard stared at it for a moment, then bent over and retched.

She had fought the Batarians, seen their cruelty towards everyone, even their own kind; the things they'd done to children had been a source of nightmares for most of her life, and she had sworn to never so much as hit a child, let alone kill one. And yet, she had done just that; never mind that Marisa would have likely killed people for sustenance, and would have done so for years, until someone in the Empire that Heinkel had talked about came around and killed her.

Shepard was nothing if not brutally honest with herself. Could she have found another way to get out of the castle, a way that didn't involve killing Marisa? The answer was probably yes, but the simple fact was that it would have taken more time to find that route. She hadn't killed Marisa out of some emotional response, nor could she even claim that she was defending herself; she had done it because it was the easiest solution, and that simple thought made her empty her stomach all over again.

As Shepard leaned back against the stone wall, her eyes clenched shut, a memory surfaced. She remembered helping Jack, back in the abandoned Cerberus facility, watching as the troubled young woman revisited the horrible things done to her. She also remembered what she'd said to Jack when she'd tried to help her. It was the same thing that Anderson had told her when she'd told him about what happened to her parents.

" _You move on, harder and tougher."_

Shepard choked out a laugh, despite herself. _Never thought I'd have to hear those words again._

After taking a few deep breaths, Shepard pushed herself to her feet. There would be time for emotional breakdowns later; right now, she was still in a hostile facility, and she needed to get her act together.

 _Now, what do I have to work with?_ Shepard asked herself. She looked down at the large, slightly rusty sword by her feet. She had a weapon, that was good. Then she saw the armor worn by the skeletons; it was also rusty, and might be a bit too big on her, but it was something.

A weapon, armor, and an objective; Shepard had worked with less.

It took a bit of effort to get the armor off the bones, and a little more to get it onto her, but after a few minutes of grunting and cursing, she had armor over her chest, back, forearms, and lower legs. She considered grabbing the bat-winged helmet that one skeleton had worn, but it was too big for her and would have gotten in the way by bouncing around. It wouldn't be the first time she'd gone into battle without a helmet, but when she'd done that, she'd had shorter hair.

Shepard bit her lip as she touched her shoulder-length red hair. When she'd been in prison on Earth, she had grown it to that length, and had never gotten around to cutting it during the Reaper War. The best she had done was tie it in a braid under her helmet. Without anything to braid her hair with, however, it was only a liability in combat.

"Not the time to be worrying about my looks," Shepard muttered to herself. She grabbed her sword and lifted it to her head, shearing away a good portion of her hair; it fell into a rough bob, and though she couldn't see it, she knew it probably didn't look good.

"Now then, where was I?" Shepard asked herself, more to break the eerie silence of the gothic castle than anything else. "Oh, right; I was getting the hell out of here."

With a final, backwards look at Marisa's remains, Shepard retraced her steps, hoping to find a low window, or better yet, a door. While she didn't find either after a few minutes of looking, she _did_ find something useful.

Leaning her sword against her shoulder, Shepard pulled the torch from its place on the wall; she then looked at the tapestries lining the corridor. If she remembered correctly, a lot of the corridors she'd seen here had had tapestries lining them. Old, dry, _flammable_ tapestries…

As Shepard began setting fire to the fabric, she started whistling a merry tune. The monsters here all deserved to burn anyway, so this just felt right.

…

Otto von Carstein had started moving the instant he'd felt the two Grave Guard, tasked with escorting the Shepard woman, be destroyed. He cursed himself for being lax, but he'd been feeding off Humans around the Empire borders for a long time, and had never had any problems like this before.

 _It has to be Henrietta's fault,_ he thought. _That fool of a woman had wanted a child, so she turned that peasant girl, and I thought she'd be enough to handle a mortal woman! It's my dear cousin's fault for making me soft!_

As if thinking about the other Vampire summoned her, Henrietta dashed towards him, her armor on and her sword in hand.

"Otto!" she shouted— _most undignified; a lady should not raise her voice like that_ , Otto thought—and looked almost panicked.

"What is it, dear cousin?" Otto asked, though the last two words tasted bitter on his tongue.

"A mortal army is marching on the castle," Henrietta said. "At least a thousand men, with more on the way; Richard said he smelled much gunpowder, probably cannons."

Otto snarled. "Mobilize our forces, and call up the Ghouls from the crypts. Engage them before they can set up their artillery!"

Henrietta nodded at his command, but before she could move out, another Vampire ran into the room. Leopold von Carstein was huge, a brute of a man who seemed barely contained by his armor, and carried a massive sword—far too large for any ordinary man to carry without both hands, and with considerable effort—like it was nothing.

"Fire!" he yelled. "There's fire in the eastern corridors! Some Imperial lackey must have snuck in; a Witch Hunter, perhaps!"

"Impossible," Otto said, "the wards I set up would have alerted me to any intruder!"

 _Wait a moment,_ Otto realized, _the girl and the mortal woman were in the eastern part of the castle!_

"That woman," he growled. "Alexia Shepard. _She's_ the one behind the fire!"

"That can't be," Henrietta protested, "Marisa would have finished feeding on her by now!"

"Your 'daughter' is dead, cousin," Otto hissed. "I felt it as the Grave Guard were destroyed; the only way that woman could be going around setting fires is if she also killed your little pet."

Henrietta looked heartbroken; despite having turned the girl into a Vampire less than a day ago, the foremost female Vampire had doted on the little one as if she truly was a mother. It made Otto sick.

"Let me kill her," Henrietta snarled. "I'll have my vengeance and stop the fires at the same time!"

"No," Otto commanded. "I want you on the front lines with the others; Leopold, take your mount and bring death from the sky, but tell Richard to kill the woman before you leave."

Leopold nodded and rushed towards the tower, where his Zombie Dragon waited. Henrietta glared daggers at Otto, and though he could taste her desire to kill him, they both knew that he would emerge victorious if they fought. Besides, Henrietta was usually pragmatic; surviving this battle was more important than vengeance.

For now, at least. Otto figured that she'd try something later, which was why he planned on killing her after the battle, if she survived.

Finally, Henrietta stormed off, leaving Otto alone. He reached out with his magic, summoning the hundreds of zombies and skeletons that were immediately available to him and marching them out of the castle. If they could disrupt the enemy's vanguard, attack them before they got into formation, they could resurrect the dead and bolster their forces enough to face the main enemy contingent.

Of course, there was still that 'if'. It all depended on the undead being fast enough, and the Empire being slow enough.

 _It doesn't help,_ Otto thought harshly, as he smelled smoke, _that an insane mortal is setting my castle on fire!_

…

"General, the gates of the castle are opening!" a Sergeant shouted.

Schwarzwald scowled fiercely. "I can see that, I'm not blind. Get the men into formation!"

The Sergeant, suitably cowed, nodded meekly and rushed off to get the ranks of red-and-white-garbed spearmen and archers properly organized; the spearmen were at the base of a hill, the archers behind and above them. Behind them, at the top of the hill, a dozen cannons were almost done being readied, their barrels aimed at the castle's walls.

Helborg had ordered that half of the cannons be placed near the front of the column as the army traveled, so that they could be set up as quickly as possible. The Talabecland contingent, comprised of scouts and light infantry, would accompany them, mostly to guard the cannons while they waited for the rest of the army to catch up.

Schwarzwald had decided to personally oversee this stage of the siege, but at that moment, he was starting to regret coming here without some of the Reiksguard Knights to accompany him. Unfortunately, the path that most of the cavalry had taken was part swamp, so they would be delayed. On the other hand, the rest of the infantry, Reikland troops in gleaming silver, were very close by, as were the cannons with them. Schwarzwald could faintly hear the shouting of officers in the distance.

"General!" another Sergeant shouted. "There's smoke coming from the castle!"

"What!?" Schwarzwald whipped his head around, the large feather rising from his helmet briefly smacking him in the face as he looked at the castle. Sure enough, there was a thin trail of smoke rising from one side; from the way it was spreading, it seemed that a fire had broken out inside. The castle, situated just inside the Talabecland border, was old and had been presumed abandoned. In order to hide themselves, the Vampires had not performed any major repairs—though the summoned clouds that blocked out the sun should have been a big hint—and the fire would quickly burn through wooden supports.

The General smiled, and his troops let out cheers at their apparent good fortune.

That cheering was suddenly drowned out by an unearthly scream. Schwarzwald turned to the source of the terrible sound and saw a giant, winged shape take flight from the castle's tower. While he had never seen a real dragon before, Schwarzwald had seen paintings of them, so he was able to recognize the creature. Then again, the pictures he'd seen had never depicted the noble beasts with exposed bone, rotting flesh, and being ridden by a Vampire holding the biggest sword he'd ever seen.

As if the undead dragon and its rider weren't bad enough, the gates of the castle swung open, and an army poured out. Dozens of hunched, pale-skinned creatures—cannibalistic Ghouls—led the way for hundreds of zombies and skeletons. The Ghouls were soon passed by a group of skeletons on horseback; both riders and mounts were covered in baroque armor. In their midst was a Vampire, riding another undead steed, a wicked-looking sword held in her—and, yes, Schwarzwald realized that it was a woman—hands.

"Ready yourselves!" Schwarzwald bellowed, while silently praying to Sigmar that he didn't sound as frightened as he felt. "We must hold until the Reiksmarshal arrives!"

His words did little to encourage his men, which was understandable; after all, there was an army of undead monsters barreling down on them.

Schwarzwald drew his sword—it was no Runefang, but it was still an impressive piece of steel—and pointed it at the oncoming horde. "Cannons, archers—open fire!"

While the artillery had been intended to bring down the walls, it wouldn't do anyone much good if they were overwhelmed. Better to lose a few shots removing the immediate threat before starting the siege.

The cannons boomed, each shot tearing holes in the undead infantry. One cannonball hit the cavalry, felling several, but to Schwarzwald's disappointment, the Vampire wasn't among them. By the time the echoes of the cannons' shots began to fade, the undead were within bow-range.

The lines of archers let loose a volley, bringing down more zombies, Ghouls, and a few skeletons, but it wasn't enough. It would be another few minutes, and then the undead would be upon them; the archers would be able to get off another volley, maybe two, but the skeletal knights would soon be breaking up their lines. And then there was the dragon…

 _Wait a moment,_ Schwarzwald thought, looking around in panic, _where is the dragon!?_

A shadow fell over him, and Schwarzwald looked up to see the great beast flying _right at him_ , its fanged maw open, while the Vampire that rode it had his sword pulled back for a swing. Schwarzwald drove his terrified horse forward and to the side, hoping that the dragon would overshoot him. His move was only partially successful; while the dragon missed him, the Vampire had nicked him with his giant sword, the blade catching him in the shoulder and unsaddling him. He landed on the dead grass with a crash and tried to get to his feet, but the dragon had landed and turned towards him.

Schwarzwald got up and swung his sword, aiming for the dragon's head, but the beast tilted back, its jaws open, and bit off his arm, sword and all. The General barely had time to scream before the Vampire's sword came down and bisected him.

As Leopold urged his mount back into the air, the Imperial cannons fired again, tearing chunks out of the undead army that was about to hit the wavering mortal soldiers. The Vampire was about to attack the artillery next, but a chorus of shouts and the sound of horses caught his attention.

In a flash of silver armor, the Reiksguard Knights led the charge; with ranks of the other Knightly Orders behind them, they split apart behind and around the vanguard, like water around a stone. The left half slammed into the mass of Ghouls, impaling some on lances and stampeding over the rest before wheeling around to charge a large group of skeletons. The right half, led by Kurt Helborg himself, attacked the skeletal knights, led by the Vampire woman.

As the Reiksmarshal swung his sword through the neck of an undead horse, and continued on through the neck of its rider, he spotted the zombie dragon fly overhead. A large, gaudy feather fell from its mouth; since he'd already seen Schwarzwald's horse without a rider, it wasn't hard for Helborg to figure out what had happened. It was a shame about Schwarzwald; if only he'd had more confidence in himself, then he would have been a fine leader.

A ragged cheer went up among the vanguard as the undead were pushed back, but Helborg didn't let it distract him further. He could see the female Vampire whirling her steed around to face him; he doubted that this was the host's true leader, but killing this one would buy time for the Empire to counterattack.

Spurring on Krieglust, his mighty steed, he charged towards Henrietta von Carstein, the Solland Runefang held high. The Vampire held up her own blade, a thin, jagged thing that glowed with unholy energy, and answered the unspoken challenge. The two riders closed in on each other, then swung their respective swords.

The sword of Henrietta von Carstein had been forged with the finest of steel and empowered by dark magic; it would best almost anything made in the Empire. However, even that powerful blade was no match for the ancient Runefang, shattering under the combination of its power and its wielder's strength. The sword kept going, slicing through Henrietta's armor and cutting deeply into her shoulder.

Helborg prepared to finish the Vampire off, but was forced to disengage when one of the undead knights nearly blindsided him. While he dealt with the interruption, Henrietta stabbed another knight with the shards of her sword, stole the man's blade, and hacked her way out of the melee. She disappeared into the nearby forest, but Helborg gave her no further thought as the zombie dragon in the distance let out a roar. Helborg signaled the musician of his personal Reiksguard Knights regiment; the man kicked away a skeleton, then nodded and blew a series of notes on his horn.

The Imperial cavalry disengaged from their opponents and regrouped with the rest of the army. The vanguard of Talabecland spearmen and archers had been reinforced by Reikland handgunners, halberdiers and swordsmen, along with the rest of the artillery. Warrior Priests were bellowing prayers to bolster the men, and wizards from several Colleges of Magic could be seen in the rear, preparing spells to aid their allies and destroy their enemies. As more and more undead began flooding out of the castle, Helborg appreciated that the Emperor had allocated him so many troops for this mission. When fighting the undead, it was always better to have overwhelming might on your side.

While he waited for his army to get into formation, Helborg noticed the growing amount of smoke rising from within the castle. He briefly wondered about its cause, but whatever it was, it had distracted the Vampires within long enough for at least part of his forces to arrive almost unnoticed. Then an officer with a banner signaled that the army was ready, and Helborg shoved all other thoughts from his mind; whatever the source of the fire was, it was unimportant next to the matter at hand.

"Men of the Empire!" Helborg roared, his voice carrying to nearly every man present. "Today, we rid our lands of this darkness, and avenge the innocents that these monsters have killed! Forward, for the Empire, and for Sigmar!"

With a mighty yell, the army began to advance; handguns and magical fire and lightning brought down scores of the massing undead, while the cannons' crews trained their barrels towards the castle. Some fired at the walls, while the others lobbed shots at the keep itself. As the artillery did its bloody work, Knights and common soldiers alike slammed into the undead army with righteous fury.

A deafening roar caught Helborg's attention; the Vampire riding the zombie dragon had returned, and though handgunners and archers were peppering it with fire, it still swooped down and crushed three Golden Hammer Knights under its bulk, before devouring another, while its rider decapitated two more.

Helborg scowled and wheeled his horse towards the beast, his retinue right behind him. Like with the last Vampire, the dragon's rider saw and accepted Helborg's unspoken challenge; he turned his own mount towards the Reiksmarshal.

"For the Empire!" Helborg cried.

…

"Son of a bitch!" Shepard muttered to herself, as the castle shook again. This time, whoever was shooting had nearly hit her, as the shards of flying masonry that cut across her arm could attest.

Shepard risked peeking through the hole that the cannonball—and it was still strange to see such archaic technology being used—had caused. She saw hordes of shuffling undead—and was that a _zombie dragon_!?—battling against brightly-colored and disciplined units of Humans, and though the mortal side clearly had numbers and firepower, it looked like they would still have a hard slog before reaching the castle. It wasn't like they could make the undead break and run; the dead didn't fear anything.

So for now, Shepard couldn't count on being rescued; she'd have to do things on her own, though at that point, she was getting used to it.

 _Still,_ she thought, looking back at the flames behind her with smug satisfaction, _for being on my own, I'm doing damn good work at wrecking these guys' shit._

Unfortunately, Shepard had been forced to abandon her torch ten minutes earlier, when she'd been confronted by several more skeletons and needed both hands to wield her sword. Thankfully, the fire she'd started no longer needed help from her, and she estimated that most of the castle would be on fire within the hour, unless something drastic happened.

 _Then again, that's a possibility,_ Shepard thought. _After all, magic exists here; there might be some spell that makes fire disappear. All that hard work would be for nothing._

With her mood somewhat dampened, Shepard began looking for a way out of the castle, preferably one that didn't lead into oncoming cannonballs.

Despite the confusion she'd felt since coming to this world, and despite being so far out of her element that it was almost funny, Shepard hadn't felt this sure of herself since before the Reaper War, possibly since before Eden Prime. At that moment, everything was so simple: Shepard had a goal, there were enemies that wanted to stop her, and she would show them the error of their ways. There was no doubting, no niggling feeling that she might be crazy—well, she was in a castle with Vampires, so there was some room for doubt there—and there were no politicians trying to drag her name through the mud. All she needed was someone to trade jokes with—Garrus, Wrex, even Miranda would have been acceptable—and she'd be happy.

"There you are…"

Shepard whirled towards the source of the voice; standing in the middle of two branching corridors was a Vampire. This one, however, she recognized; it was the one who had killed Heinkel, the one with whom she had a score to settle.

The Vampire didn't have his sword drawn, and looked wholly unconcerned by the fires behind Shepard or the growing sound of combat. In fact, he looked almost bored.

"Your strange blood is easy to track," the Vampire said in a conversational tone. "Still, your fresh blood made it even easier."

Shepard had to clamp down on the urge to look at her bleeding arm on reflex, or risk taking her eyes off her opponent. Besides, the scratches weren't enough to hinder movement, and they didn't even hurt anymore.

"Just because you found me doesn't mean you'll kill me," Shepard said calmly.

She kept her sword pointed at him, in case he attacked; she'd seen how fast a Vampire could be, and had no intention of getting caught off-guard like that again. Still, she had to keep moving; the longer she stayed in one place, the more likely it would be that she'd be surrounded by more enemies, and the approaching fire wasn't helping matters.

The Vampire shrugged. "I could have killed you a hundred times over back in that miserable little village, but I didn't. I thought you would be an interesting prize for my cousin."

"And did you get a reward for your hard work?" Shepard asked sarcastically.

"As a matter of fact, I did." The Vampire smiled wickedly. "Who do you think put you in that lovely dress?"

Shepard was too disciplined to reel back in shock, but she couldn't help the heat that crawled across her face.

"It's been far too long since I've seen such beauty without the moment being disrupted by screams," the Vampire continued. "Otto scolded me for taking so long, but it was worth it to spend so much time… admiring you. It's a shame that I'm no longer alive; if I was, you would have been my favorite mistress."

 _Okay, so he's killed Heinkel and at least several innocent people,_ Shepard thought coldly, _he knocked me out, kidnapped me, I find out that he's the one who put me in that goddamn dress,_ and _he's a pervert. His ass is grass._

"What's your name?" Shepard asked in a low tone.

"Richard von Carstein," the Vampire said, though he sounded a little confused.

"Thanks," Shepard said. "Now, when people ask me what kill gave me the most satisfaction, I can give them a name, instead of just calling you 'that one asshole I killed'."

Richard actually looked shocked for a moment; then he casually drew his sword and pointed it at her. "Prepare to die, wench."

"Come and get me, if you think you've got the balls," Shepard taunted. "Or did those rot away? Is that the real reason you can only watch?"

With a snarl of outrage, Richard charged; he was still faster than any normal Human, but Shepard now had a measure of his capabilities. If anything, he was about as fast as Kai Leng, and Shepard had kicked that guy's ass twice before killing him.

Richard swung his sword, but Shepard saw the blow coming and ducked at the last second; she stood up, inside his reach, and spun around him, their bodies almost touching, until they were back-to-back. Too close to use her own sword, Shepard settled for jabbing him in the back with the pommel as hard as she could. Since Richard was wearing plate armor, it didn't do much damage, but that wasn't the point; the point was that it staggered him, stunning him long enough for Shepard to start running.

As much as she wanted to kill him right then and there, the hallways were too narrow, and if she mistimed her strike, she'd be the one off-balance. There was also the fact that Richard had had years of experience with a sword, while this was the second time that Shepard had even picked one up.

So Shepard ran. Her body was still healing, and the rough, ill-fitting armor she wore kept smacking into her, and she hadn't had anything to eat or drink in almost a full day. Her training, Cerberus upgrades, and sheer willpower kept her going, but it was only a matter of time before something gave out. If she was going to fight that Vampire, she wanted to be prepared.

"Where do you think you're going!?" Richard snarled in her ear as he grabbed the back of her neck.

 _Shit, I didn't think he'd recover that fast,_ Shepard thought, then jerked her head back; for her actions, she was rewarded by a jarring impact and the crunch of Richard's nose as it broke.

While that move would have stopped a normal man in his tracks, Richard merely growled and hurled her into the nearest wall. Shepard slid to the floor with a crash, her sword falling out of reach. Before she could try and grab it, or even get to her knees, an armored boot slammed into her, knocking her on her back. That same boot planted itself onto her breastplate; the rusty metal began to buckle under the pressure.

"No one mocks me and lives, bitch," Richard hissed as he drew his sword back.

Shepard desperately clawed at his leg, but the Vampire was using his full, unnatural strength, and Shepard was still trying to get air into her lungs, which was difficult when there was a plate of metal being pressed against her chest.

Still, she struggled against her impending death; she had never been the type to close her eyes and think about all the people she'd failed, and the people she'd see again. Until she actually died, she would do all she could to keep living.

Shepard's salvation did not come from her own actions, or a mistake on Richard's part. Instead, just as the Vampire's sword began to fall, another barrage of cannonballs hit the castle, very close to where they were. The impact was too much for that section, already damaged by the fire and earlier bombardments. With the sound of grinding stone and splintering wood, that part of the castle began to crumble.

 _Oh, shit,_ was all Shepard had time to think, and then a piece of stone slammed into her head, and everything went dark.

…

Kurt Helborg winced as he rolled his shoulder; while his armor had held, the grazing hit from the Vampire's sword had nearly unseated him. On the other hand, his Runefang had torn a huge gash down the zombie dragon's neck, nearly the entire length, and the damage had been enough to start unraveling the magic holding the beast together. Seeing that, its rider had flown back to the castle, though Helborg had seen drunken Griffons with more grace than the undead monster now showed.

If he was being honest with himself, Helborg was a little disappointed. The Vampire had looked like quite the warrior, but once his mount began to fail, he had fled. Killing such a monster and its impressive rider would have been a nice addition to his list of victories.

Still, there was more to do; several other Vampires had joined the battle, but almost all had been killed by massed gunfire, impaled on the lances of knights or, in one memorable instance, burned to ashes by a Bright Wizard. Most of the undead were beginning to fall apart without the power of their masters, and the Ghouls had all been slaughtered. The real challenge lay in getting into the castle proper—

 _CRASH!_

At least, it would have been a challenge, had a large portion of the wall not collapsed, along with part of the keep. Helborg allowed himself a small smile.

"Knights, to me!" He shouted, his voice carrying even over the din of dying battle. "Into the breach! Charge!"

The knights, Reiksguard or otherwise, gathered together and rushed the breach, with Helborg as the tip of the spear. Waiting inside were hundreds of skeletal warriors, but unlike most of the ones that had fought outside the castle, these were armed with strong, albeit a little rusty, weapons and armor. They were Grave Guard, the elite soldiers, and three Vampires led them; among them was the one who rode the zombie dragon, though his mount was now a pile of decaying meat, and its rider was on foot.

Despite his grudge against his escaped quarry, Helborg ignored him as he and the knights drew to a stop, focusing instead on the one in the center. His armor was more ornate, decorated with spikes and sculpted bat wings. His sword glowed with the same dark magic as the female's had. At his sides were two undead hounds; it was a sickening parody of a nobleman out for a hunt with his favored beasts.

Still, the Vampire was acting like a noble, and if the way he was waiting was any indication, he clearly wanted to talk before fighting. No matter what was said, Helborg was determined to wipe these monsters off the face of the world, but there was an etiquette that needed to be observed.

"Reiksmarshal Helborg," the Vampire sneered and gave a mocking bow. "I am honored that the Emperor sends his favorite bootlicker to fight me."

Helborg didn't bat an eye at the insult—he'd heard worse over the years. What he paid attention to, however, was the resigned look in all the Vampires' eyes. It was more pronounced in the other two than in the leader, but it was still there; they knew that they had nowhere to go, that this was their final stand.

The lead Vampire scowled when his insults found no purchase. "I am Otto von Carstein; I claimed this castle by my ancient birthright. Leave at once!"

This time, Helborg had to resist a chuckle. "Your 'birthright' is a perversion of life itself, monster. In Sigmar's name, I shall gladly send you all to the hell you belong!"

Otto von Carstein gritted his teeth and charged, followed closely by his hounds, his fellow Vampires, and his army of skeletons. Helborg spurred his horse on, followed by the knights.

The battle was remarkably one-sided. Helborg saw a Reiksguard impale the giant Vampire on his lance, killing him, while the knights of the two Orders tore through the ranks of skeletons. They might have been elite warriors, but there were no spears among them, and the cavalry quickly reduced them to shattered bones and metal.

Something crossed his vision, and Helborg's sword lashed out, bisecting the undead hound that leapt at him. A knight at his side killed the other hound with his lance, but in return, the man was torn apart by Otto in a flurry of strikes. Helborg swung again, but he didn't have time to put enough strength into the blow, and the Runefang was deflected in a shower of sparks.

If Otto said anything, Helborg ignored it; the time for words had passed, and had no place here. He turned his horse around as Otto tried to get around him, then stabbed forward; this time, Otto misjudged Helborg's reach, and the Runefang sunk into his left arm. The Vampire hissed and stumbled backwards… into a patch of sunlight. He screamed as, for an instant, he burned.

With most of the Vampires dead, they were unable to maintain the clouds that kept the sunlight from burning them. Between that and the Celestial Wizards accompanying Helborg's forces, the clouds were parting. Unfortunately, the sun had almost completely set by that point, so it wasn't as much of an advantage as it could have been.

Still, it was enough for Helborg. He lashed out twice more; the first strike removed Otto's sword-hand at the wrist, and the second strike removed his head.

Immediately, many of the Grave Guard began to fall apart; Helborg assumed that the third Vampire had been killed during the fighting. Still, there were enough Grave Guard standing to rouse Helborg's suspicions; there might be another Vampire nearby, or perhaps a Necromancer. He was about to order his forces to continue the attack, but a barrage of cannonballs flew overhead and slammed into the keep. A chunk of it fell into the courtyard, and while normally Helborg would ignore something like that, this time was different.

Two people had fallen with the debris, and both were starting to get up. With some of the Grave Guard still fighting, and too many knights in his way, Helborg was unable to get closer or join in the battle, so he settled for watching what happened next.

In the years to come, he would be glad that he did.

…

 _That's the second time today I've been knocked out,_ Shepard thought as she got to her feet. _It's not happening a third time. You hear that, universe? Quit making my day worse!_

As Shepard recovered, she saw Richard getting back up as well. "Well, that figures. Should've known you'd survive too."

Richard had partially landed in a pile of burning wood; his hair was burned away, and half of his face was a charred mess. Still, he picked up his sword with an ease that belied any pain he might have been in. Shepard was going to do the same, until she realized that _her weapon was nowhere to be found_.

"Um… time-out?" Shepard asked weakly.

Richard snarled and lunged at her, and Shepard scrambled out of the way. She needed a weapon, something to defend herself with… aha!

Ducking another sword-swipe, she scooped up a hammer from the ground, near where it tumbled from the hand of a dead knight. It was a large, two-handed affair, and though its head was covered in decaying flesh, at that moment, it was the most beautiful thing Shepard had ever seen.

Shepard swung her new weapon just as Richard stabbed forward with his own. The hammer smacked into the blade of the sword, and while it didn't shatter the weapon, it did knock it out of Richard's hand. Now it was his turn to run as Shepard chased after him; her hammer solidly connected with his back just as he grabbed the hilt of his sword. The blow sent the Vampire tumbling across the dead grass, and Shepard kept going; her next strike, an upward swing, caught him on the chin and was strong enough to lift him several feet into the air. Once again, Richard's sword clattered to the ground.

The Vampire's jaw was shattered, and two more blows crushed his hands. Shepard stood over him, hammer raised high. She opened her mouth to say something, but then she hesitated, as if deciding on what the last thing Richard would ever hear would be.

Finally, she shrugged. "This is for putting me in a dress, asshole."

The hammer fell.

…

At the edge of the forest, Henrietta von Carstein stood in the shadows and glared at the burning remains of the castle. She knew that the mortal woman was alive; even from here, she could smell her strange blood.

"You will pay, Alexia Shepard," she swore. "For the daughter you murdered, you will pay!"

…

Shepard ignored the fragments of bone, blood and brain matter that splattered her; she looked down at Richard's body for a moment, then spat on it. She looked around; once she saw that no one was going to attack her, she dropped her weapon and dragged the Vampire's corpse over to a pile of burning wood. For several minutes, she watched the monster burn. It was only when a horse snorted in her ear did she realize that she had company.

The first thing she saw was the horse, a magnificent beast that was covered in plates of armor—though she was a bit thrown off by the skull mounted on the armor on its face. Then there was the rider; clad in armor that managed to gleam, despite the scratches and dents scattered across it, the man cut an impressive figure. Shepard was a bit skeptical of the huge wings on the man's helmet, and the large mustache was almost comical, but the gleaming—no, glowing—sword in his hand, and the sheer conviction on his face, suggested that laughing would be a bad idea. Still, Shepard was too tired and sore to be as polite as she could be.

"So… how ya doin'?"

 ***Sigh*… This took way too long to write. I don't know why, especially since I had it mapped out in my head weeks ago, but there you have it. This chapter was fun, mostly because snarky Shepard is awesome. However, there was some dark stuff here; the scenes with Marisa in particular made me uncomfortable.**

 **Now, one thing some of you might be wondering: How the hell is Shepard understanding what people are saying in this world? Well, from what I understand, Reikspiel is similar to German, though I could be using outdated source material. Either way, as the best special-forces soldier out there, Shepard would probably have learned many major Human languages. And, of course, her translator implant is the only piece of tech from her old galaxy that still works.**

 **Another thing: How can Shepard beat a Vampire when she got her ass handed to her last time? Okay, Shepard was out of her element and totally unprepared. I have been informed that many Humans can and have defeated Vampires in single combat, and Shepard has tons of upgrades, either from Cerberus or all those options in Mass Effect 2 (for the sake of the story, assume she got all of those).**

 **Before you ask, Helborg and his guys did not get deployed five minutes after Shepard got captured. They were already on their way to fight the Vampires, and happened to arrive just as Shepard began burning stuff.**

 **And yes, Henrietta will be a recurring character.**

 **Next Chapter: Still lost, Shepard is brought before the Emperor himself. What will Karl Franz offer, and what will Shepard pay for it?**

 **Sigmar save the Muffin!**


	3. It's a Deal

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. THEN AGAIN, TERRIBLE THINGS HAPPEN IN BOTH UNIVERSES, SO I'M NOT SURE I WANT TO HAVE THEM.**

 **Some things I want to confirm right now, since I've had these questions asked. First, Shepard is** _ **not**_ **a biotic, end of story; even if she was, her amp would have been fried. Second, she is a Colonist/War Hero. And technically, I'm multi-classing her in this story. She's a Soldier/Engineer, but not an Infiltrator. Now, I know that some of you are upset that she isn't a biotic, but here's the thing: she'd get killed for being a witch or something. Also, Karl Franz isn't a biotic, and he does all right, so Shepard will be fine.**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 3

It's a Deal

" _When I first saw her, I didn't see a woman. I saw a fighter of immeasurable courage and tenacity, but also compassion and empathy. I knew that she could do much good for the Empire."—Emperor Karl Franz, regarding General Shepard._

" _When I first saw him, I figured he was compensating for something with that hammer."—General Alexia Shepard, regarding Emperor Karl Franz._

…

Shepard was not the most patient person in the world. It was one of many reasons she had screamed into a pillow after a particularly frustrating talk with the Council. She had always been in favor of doing _something_ ; not just because it felt good to accomplish even the smallest of tasks, but because she always got fidgety when she sat still for too long.

Now, for the last three hours since the battle had ended, she had been forced to wait in a tent at the back of the Imperial army, guarded at all times by several soldiers. She hadn't been allowed to leave the tent, or even given something to read to keep her busy! To make things less comforting, Shepard had been asked—rather forcefully, in her opinion—to remove her armor and give back the hammer she'd borrowed.

After a brief confirmation with Kurt Helborg—the second-highest ranking officer in the Empire, underneath only the Emperor himself—that she was not a Vampire, nor some other evil creature, she had been escorted to the tent and told to wait, both to have her wounds treated and for Helborg to decide what would be done with her.

The healing part of things actually happened less than an hour into the waiting. A man with a white beard, flowing green robes—though he was barefoot, which was weird—and carrying a twisting staff with a skull mounted on it in one hand had entered the tent and dismissed the soldiers.

"Greetings," he'd said softly. "I am Parral, Wizard of the Jade Order."

Shepard had smiled uncertainly. "I'm Alexia Shepard. Sorry, I don't know what your title means."

 _I cannot believe that this guy is a Wizard,_ she had thought. _Then again, I was fighting Vampires earlier, so it's not so far-fetched._

Parral had chuckled. "Many do not. We Wizards prefer to keep our secrets, you see. Now then, I am here to fix you up, if you don't mind."

Shepard had been ignoring the pain of her wounds, both old and new, for a while, but there was only so much pain she could take. She had nodded and held out her arm, which had the freshest injury.

Parral had stroked his beard for a moment, then put his hands over her arm. He began muttering strange words, ones that not even Shepard's translator could decipher, though what happened next captured all of her attention. Parral's hands began to glow green! Not only that, but the cuts in her arm began to heal, and when the Wizard pulled away, the only reminder Shepard had that she'd been hurt were a few bloodstains.

"There we go," Parral had said. "Do you want me to continue?"

Shepard had looked at him like he was insane. "Why the hell would I want you to stop?"

Parral had looked shocked. "Most do not trust sorcery, and avoid Wizards if they are able."

"Well, I'm not most people," Shepard had said with a grin. With a smile of his own, Parral resumed his work; in a few minutes, most of Shepard's injuries were either completely erased, or reduced to a fraction of what they were.

The only thing that Parral had been unable to fix was the mass of scars. Shepard didn't consider herself vain, but she'd become uncomfortable by the guards staring at the scar on her face, and had hoped to avoid that in the future.

"The wounds that left the scars were too deep to simply erase," Parral had explained. "I can mitigate them somewhat, but that is all."

Shepard had been about to accept the offer, but then she'd noticed how pale Parral was. His magic apparently took a lot out of him. She had refused, but Parral had insisted that he at least help her face. In the end, the wide scar had been reduced to what looked like a crack in porcelain. It was still noticeable, but it wasn't nearly as disfiguring.

After that, Parral had left, the guards returned, and Shepard had been avoided ever since. By the time Kurt Helborg came to get her, she had counted every odd stone on the ground, every loose stitch on her clothes, and every scratch on the guards' armor. Twice. It was a wonder she hadn't gone insane yet.

"Come with me," Helborg ordered curtly.

Shepard would have made a smart comment, but Helborg was armed, while she was not, and Shepard was still exhausted. It was better to play by the rules this time.

Helborg said nothing for a few minutes, until they reached the top of a small hill; there, he stared out at his army as it made camp. Shepard could see that there was a lot on the man's mind, so she let him be while he gathered his thoughts. It gave her an opportunity to look at the various parts of the Imperial army.

The force was divided into four groups, and while they had fought alongside each other well enough during the battle, there was clearly some mistrust, because there were four distinct camps. The Talabecland soldiers had the smallest area, since they had the smallest presence in the army—ironic, considering they were _in_ Talabecland—and were easily identifiable by their red-and-white uniforms. The Reiksguard, both infantry and cavalry, had the largest camp, and the light of torches and campfires reflected brightly off their polished silver armor; Shepard noticed that each man there held himself with a confident pride, as if each move he made was important.

Then there were the two Knightly Orders. Shepard grimaced when she saw the Order of the Golden Hammer, the gold-painted namesakes shining brightly against their white armor; when she had handed one of them the hammer she'd borrowed, the nearest of them had stared in what could only be described as awe. Apparently, they respected anyone who could fight, regardless of gender, but from the way the closest knights kept glancing at her, she worried that they might start following her around. The last thing she wanted was a bunch of fanatics tagging along after her.

The one group that was a bit of a mystery to her was the Knights of Ironrock. They kept to themselves and didn't seem to talk much. When not wearing their helmets, they kept their faces shadowed by large hoods, so Shepard couldn't get a good read on them. Even their armor was a shadowy grey, making it hard to even see them.

Shepard dismissed the oddness; if the knights here were anything like the ancient knights of her past, they probably just had some weird traditions.

"What do you see?" Helborg asked, cutting into Shepard's thoughts.

 _That's not fair,_ Shepard thought and resisted the urge to pout. _I let him think without interruptions, so why couldn't he do the same for me?_

"I see a lot of different people who can fight together," Shepard said after a moment. "They don't seem to be working together right now, though."

Helborg nodded. "It is a condition that has plagued the Empire for centuries, but as long as we can still fight our enemies, it is a matter that many do not address. It is also not the answer to my question."

Shepard blinked at him. "Um… okay, what am I missing?"

"We suffered casualties in this battle," Helborg said, and while Shepard couldn't be sure, she thought she saw a faint smile behind the man's mustache. "No battle is free of deaths, of course, but we came here expecting a hard fight. We had less than a hundred casualties today. After some thought, I've come to the conclusion that the fire you started threw the Vampires into disarray. If you had not been here, there would have been many more dead. Perhaps we would have been ambushed and destroyed entirely. Thanks to you, that was prevented."

Helborg had given many commendations to many soldiers. He was used to puffed-up arrogance, embarrassment, and even genuine pride, and he had expected something along those lines with Shepard. To his surprise, she only looked sad.

"I didn't do enough," she said softly. "I saw a lot of innocent people get murdered in that castle. I couldn't save any of them."

Though Helborg didn't know Shepard's past, at that moment, he got a glimpse of what she had gone through. This was someone who had had lives depend on her before, and not all of those lives had been saved. And she blamed herself for every one of them.

"You cannot save everyone you meet," Helborg told her gruffly.

Shepard scowled and kicked at the dead grass that was typical of Sylvanian land. "I know that, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

From the way Shepard was looking at her feet, Helborg could tell that he wasn't going to get much more out of her.

"It is late," he said. "I shall escort you back to your tent. I trust you will not run away during the night?"

Shepard looked up at him and laughed, but there was no humor behind it. "Where would I go?"

…

The next morning, Shepard found herself eating breakfast with a few knights—it was hard to remember the name of a group called the Order of the Golden Hammer, much less those of individual members—and Parral, who sat a short distance away. He had been even further away, but Shepard had invited him over, and while the knights didn't talk to the Wizard, they apparently respected Shepard enough to not speak against his presence.

Once the knights had finished their prayers, they began boasting of their various deeds during the battle; it was obvious to everyone when someone was exaggerating, but it seemed to be in good fun, so no one called out anyone on their bullshit.

"You think that is impressive?" one knight asked another after he finished his boast, then grinned at Shepard. "I smashed through one undead knight during my charge, then kept going and destroyed five more skeletons without even adjusting my hammer."

Shepard shared an amused smile with Parral, then grinned back at the knight. "That sounds easy. At least you have experience with that sort of thing; before yesterday, I'd never picked up a sword in my life, and I still managed to burn down a castle and kill a Vampire."

Apparently these knights hadn't seen her fight with Richard, or if they had, they hadn't known about Shepard's inexperience in this kind of fighting, because more than one jaw dropped. Shepard fought the urge to laugh. It had been a long time since she'd shared war-stories with anyone; she'd never had the chance to do so with her crew on the _Normandy_ , since they had been with her through all of her most impressive feats.

 _If they knew about the Reapers, they'd probably die from aneurisms or something,_ she mused.

Thinking about the Reapers made her stop. After getting some sleep and letting the excitement from yesterday fade, she had started worrying. She still had no idea how she got to this world, or how to get back home. And what about her friends? Some of them had been in pretty bad shape the last time she'd seen them. Beyond that, how was the galaxy dealing with the immediate aftermath of the Reapers' defeat? For that matter, _had_ the Reapers been defeated?

Shepard bit the inside of her cheek and tried not to let her feelings show. As much as she hated to admit it, there was nothing she could do at the moment, so until an opportunity revealed itself, the only productive worrying she could do was for herself.

A high-pitched whinny caught all of their attention as a haggard man rode by on an even more haggard horse. The tired animal slid to a stop in front of a Reiksguard officer, and while the rider practically fell off the saddle and spoke in whispers to the officer, several Talabecland soldiers brought water and food for the poor horse.

"What's going on?" Shepard asked, though not to anyone in particular.

"Hmm…" Parral stroked his beard as he squinted at the new arrival. "His satchel bears the seal of the Emperor. It seems that he has a message for the Reiksmarshal."

"Perhaps there is another battle to be had?" a knight suggested eagerly. "I wouldn't mind adding a few more marks to my tally."

"Only so that you have a chance of catching up with me," another knight joked.

Shepard, however, was hoping that Helborg wasn't being ordered to another fight. She had no idea where to go, which meant that she would probably tag along with the Imperial army, and the longer she did that, the longer she would be away from home.

A moment later, the officer and the messenger hurried to Helborg's tent. Shepard finished the last of her food and stood up.

"Where are you going?" Parral asked.

"To see what's going on," Shepard answered.

"Do you expect the Reiksmarshal to tell you?" a knight asked incredulously.

Shepard shrugged. "There's no harm in asking, and I'm used to people in power telling me to piss off."

Without another word, she strode towards the Reiksmarshal's tent. She didn't run, but she walked with clear purpose, her aura suggesting that anyone who got in her way would be physically chastised.

The only ones who blocked her path were the guards outside the tent. "Can you tell your boss that I'd like to see him?" Shepard asked with her arms crossed, her tone almost daring them to say no.

The guards looked at each other, and then one disappeared into the tent. A moment later, he returned.

"The Reiksmarshal will see you now."

"Thank you!" Shepard said with a bright smile and walked in.

"Ah, Miss Shepard, I was about to ask you to come," Helborg said as she entered. "It seems you preempted my request."

Shepard grinned. "Yesterday should have been a good indication that I have a knack for being at the right place at the right time."

The two of them weren't alone. Aside from the messenger, who was in the corner taking deep gulps of water, several Reiksguard and Talabecland officers were present, along with a member of the Knights of Ironrock. Aside from the knight and the messenger, the officers gave Shepard dirty looks, either because of her flippant attitude or because she was a woman, she didn't know.

She also didn't care, because Helborg was the only one who really mattered; she had learned that the Reiksmarshal was second only to the Emperor in terms of military authority. Shepard had to wonder if the man had slept in his armor, because he still looked like he had come fresh from the battle.

 _I wonder if he slept at all?_ Shepard thought. _I can relate. Thanks, Reapers._

Helborg nodded. "You do have that talent. Regardless, I have news from Altdorf. The Emperor has recalled us, and we are to move with all haste. You are to accompany me to the palace, and you will be brought before the Emperor."

Shepard couldn't mask her surprise. "Why does he want to see me?"

"I am not completely certain that he does," Helborg admitted. "His note only says that he must 'see the woman with hair like blood and spirit like fire'. You are the only woman I know that meets that description."

To Shepard, it felt like she was missing something. For some reason, the leader of the Empire wanted to see her, despite it being impossible for them to have met before. No one in the village had sent any messages, that she was aware of, and if the messenger was anything to go by, there was no way someone could have told the Emperor about her and gotten back with a response in less than twelve hours.

The only conclusion she could reach, despite it being impossible, was that he somehow knew about her beforehand.

Also, 'spirit like fire'?

 _There are way too many questions,_ Shepard thought. _I need answers._

"So… what happens next?" she asked.

Helborg scowled. "The Talabecland soldiers and the Knightly Orders will return to their posts. I would have preferred giving my soldiers a little longer to rest, but the Emperor's will is absolute. The Reiksguard will move out within the hour, and we will not stop until we reach Altdorf. Prepare yourself for a hard ride."

Shepard sighed; so much for letting herself fully recover. Her muscles still ached. "I should warn you, I've never ridden a horse before."

Helborg's mustache twitched, and Shepard had a sneaking suspicion that he was smiling. "I am certain that you will enjoy the experience."

…

 _Damn you, Helborg!_ Shepard raged as she bounced around in the saddle. _You knew this would happen! If I ever get my hands on you, I'm going to rip your mustache off and make you eat it!_

For almost six hours, the Reiksguard Knights had been riding hard, stopping only briefly to let the horses drink, and to confirm that the infantry and artillery were still tailing them. In that six hours, Shepard had learned two very important things about herself.

First, that she hated horses, and second, if she was going to stay in this world for any length of time, she would learn how to beat a mounted knight, if only out of spite.

"Not one for riding, are you?" Parral asked as he drew his horse alongside hers. Shepard gave him the worst glare she could muster.

Parral and several other Wizards had brought horses with them, and were traveling with the Reiksguard Knights. While some of the knights had laughed at Shepard's abysmal attempt at controlling her steed, Parral had only smirked.

"I don't think I'm going to be walking right for a while," Shepard said through gritted teeth, then narrowed her eyes at the Wizard. "Why the hell are you so cheery?"

It was true; after healing her, and until a few hours ago, Parral had looked drained. However, once they had reached the edge of what the Imperials called Drakwald Forest, he had started to perk up.

"The Wind of Life is stronger here," Parral explained. "I have much more energy."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "The wind of what?"

Parral's eyes brightened. "Well, magic is divided into eight different Colleges…"

As Parral explained how magic worked, Shepard lost focus on how much her lower body ached.

…

It took almost two full days to arrive at the Empire's capital city, and Shepard had never been so glad to get off that damn horse. While her conversation with Parral had been interesting, there was only so much he could tell her about the various Colleges of Magic, either because he didn't know about the inner workings of the other seven, or he wasn't allowed to tell the secrets of his own. After that, there wasn't a lot for them to talk about, and Shepard was left to ride in silence. Painful silence. By the time they had reached Altdorf, Shepard was convinced that her tailbone was broken, and swore never to ride another horse for the rest of her life.

Parral had given her a brief, if sincere, goodbye before heading into the city. Helborg and a group of knights had taken Shepard in a different direction; though they wanted to hurry, there were many people slowing their progress, and that gave Shepard a chance to really look at the city.

It was certainly more developed than Wolfshead. There was more stone and metal making up the buildings than wood, the streets were smooth, though not paved, and there were several devices that looked like steam engines. Clouds of smoke hung over the city, and some of that smoke was definitely _not_ normal; Shepard saw blue, green, and purple smoke, along with several other colors. She also swore that some of the wisps of smoke moved against the wind.

 _Remember, magic exists,_ she reminded herself.

And then there were the people. Everywhere she looked, she saw someone who was clearly from somewhere else in the Empire, either buying or selling wares, or talking—or arguing—with someone else. The sights, sounds and smells nearly overwhelmed her, and if Shepard wasn't used to places like Ilium and the Citadel, her head would have spun. There was none of the usual order that was present in Alliance colonies or cities; to her, Altdorf was just a few steps away from anarchy.

Once they reached the palace, a towering fortress covered in banners and manned by immaculate soldiers, Shepard was brought into a large room and Helborg put her in the care of several female servants and then left. Apparently, her dirty and bloodstained self was not appropriate to be brought before the Emperor. While the servants left to bring her some better clothes—men's clothes, Shepard had requested, and had ignored the looks the servant had given her—Shepard had been left alone to take a bath.

As Shepard sank into the steaming water, she couldn't help but sigh in pleasure. Beyond wiping herself down with a wet rag a few times in Wolfshead, she hadn't had a chance to really clean herself. While her N7 training made sure that she could go the rest of her life without a shower and not complain, there was nothing preventing her from enjoying herself as almost two weeks of sweat, dirt and dried blood was washed away.

Reluctantly, she eventually left the bath and got dressed in the clothes that the servants dropped off. The white pants were clean and well-tailored, as was the blue tunic and black boots. Once she was ready—and while Shepard wasn't one for appearances, she _was_ about to meet an Emperor, so she took an extra few seconds to make sure her clothes weren't wrinkled—she followed a Reiksguard soldier down one massive hallway after another. From the brief glimpse Shepard had, the palace of Altdorf made the Vampire castle look like a hovel in comparison.

Shepard was brought into a huge chamber, dotted with pillars, banners, and a set of steps that led up to a throne in the back. In the shadows, nobles whispered and pointed as she walked into the throne room. Shepard, being used to having her name dragged through the mud, ignored the disparaging looks; she did, however, promise herself that if any of them asked her loaded questions like a certain reporter, she would go Krogan on them with a headbutt.

And then there was the man standing in front of the throne. He wore full plate armor that was ornate to an almost ridiculous degree, yet he seemed comfortable in it, almost as if he didn't even notice. A long cloak, lined with fur, fell over his shoulders, and his helm was topped by both a long plume and a tiny Griffon clutching a hammer. The only part of his skin that was exposed was his face which, while covered in scars, seemed surprisingly young for someone ruling a nation. Shepard guessed that he was around her age, maybe a few years older.

Behind the Emperor, leaning against the throne itself, was a hammer; it was vaguely shaped like the ones the Knights of the Golden Hammer had used, but actually colored gold and far more ornate than others Shepard had seen. In fact, the large weapon seemed to radiate light and power, as if it promised justice and death in equal measure.

To her surprise, Shepard found a similar feeling emanating from the Emperor himself.

Then she glanced at the long haft of the weapon, and her childish, snarky side took over. It took a lot of willpower not to laugh at several of the jokes running through her head. _I need to stop hanging around Jack,_ she thought.

The Reiksguard soldier guided Shepard to the base of the stairs, then dropped to one knee. Shepard, not knowing the proper procedure for this kind of meeting, gave an awkward half-bow, but other than that, kept her eyes locked with the Emperor's. In the background, the whispering increased.

"Thank you, soldier," the Emperor said in a calm, steady voice. "Please, all of you, leave us. There are matters that I must discuss with our guest. In private."

There were more whispers, but the nobles soon vanished, leaving only Shepard, the Emperor, a few guards—though Shepard was certain that more were hidden—and three others who stepped into view. The first was someone she recognized; Kurt Helborg offered her a brief nod as he stood next to her. The next was a dour man in gold armor and an even bigger mustache than Helborg and, combined with his large beard, concealed most of his face. His eyes, though, screamed his suspicion of Shepard as he looked at her.

The third man, however, was a complete mystery. Every inch of him was covered, either by his dark gloves, long red robes, or the golden helmet and mask that went past his neck. The only thing Shepard was sure about was that he didn't really care about her, if the way he kept his face pointed away from her was any indication.

"I believe introductions are in order," the Emperor said. "I am Karl Franz; Emperor, Elector Count of the Reikland, Prince of Altdorf… I could tell you more of my titles, but we would be here for a long time." His slight smile made Shepard relax a fraction. "You have already met the Reiksmarshal, so I will introduce the two men you do not know. The first is my Champion, Ludwig Schwarzhelm."

Shepard exchanged a cordial nod with the man in gold armor, though she noticed that the man kept his hand on the hilt of his sword. Shepard didn't know what he was so worried about; she had no weapons, nor any other means of attacking someone. Maybe Schwarzhelm was just paranoid.

"The last is Balthasar Gelt, Supreme Patriarch of the Colleges of Magic and Patriarch of the Gold Order," Karl Franz continued, gesturing to the final man present.

Shepard was just glad that Parral had given her a brief overview of how the Colleges of Magic were run, or else the red-robed man's title would have meant nothing to her. Still, her respectful nod went unanswered.

"I regret to say that the other person I wished to be here, Grand Theogonist Volkmar, is currently battling the Empire's foes and thus unable to make an appearance." Karl Franz sounded truly disappointed that this Volkmar person wasn't present, but Shepard didn't have a chance to comment, because the Emperor was suddenly giving his full attention to the Supreme Patriarch, whose posture suggested he was scoffing.

"You have a comment, Wizard?" Schwarzhelm demanded, his tone just shy of outraged.

Shepard didn't blame him. Even if Gelt disagreed with whatever was going on, what he did was kind of rude. She didn't compare that kind of rudeness to the times she'd hung up on the Council; they deserved it.

"My lord, forgive my impertinence," Gelt said in a soft, I'm-only-speaking-to-you-because-I-have-to kind of voice, "but I maintain that this entire meeting is a farce. There is no point to speaking with this woman."

"This woman killed a Vampire in single combat, and prevented many casualties," Helborg growled. "Show some respect!"

"Hey!" Shepard barked, glaring at all of them. "Yeah, 'this woman' is standing right here, and would really like to know what's going on."

Karl Franz coughed. "Forgive us, Miss. Events have been transpiring quickly, and as such, I have been unable to keep all of my advisors informed. This meeting is as much to help them as it is you."

Gelt relaxed a fraction at that; apparently, the Wizard didn't like not knowing things. At least that was one thing he and Shepard shared.

The Emperor continued. "Several days ago, the Patriarch of the Celestial Order approached me with tidings of great import. He and some of his closest acolytes witnessed a vision of a comet crashing into our world, and from that crash would come a woman who would bring about great change in the Empire."

Shepard had been staring as Karl Franz spoke, but when he paused, she noticed that the other three men were giving her glances.

"And you think that's me?" Shepard asked. "Sorry, but I'm not a big believer in visions of the future."

Karl Franz smiled. "You would not be the first. However, the description I was given matched exactly with how you appear now. Your scars have healed a bit, however."

Shepard's hand went up to her face, her fingertips brushing against her scar. "I'll get used to it."

"My lord, I must protest," Gelt said, though his tone was more respectful. "Regardless of how much the Celestial Order has helped the Empire in the past, their predictions are not always right, nor are they what they seem. They predicted that great change would occur because of this woman—"

"Standing right here," Shepard said quietly.

"—but we do not know what kind of change she will bring about, if she will at all," Gelt continued, ignoring Shepard. "For all we know, she could bring about the end of the Empire as we know it!"

Karl Franz shrugged. "That may be true. Regardless, I would like to know more about you, Miss…?"

From the way that Helborg shifted in place, Shepard guessed that their meeting had been so rushed that the Reiksmarshal hadn't been able to tell Karl Franz much about her. Like her name.

This left her with a bit of a dilemma. How much did the Emperor supposedly know about her? How much could she tell, and how much could she withhold? Claiming to be from another galaxy probably wouldn't help her much; she needed allies if she was going to survive here, and if she was going to find a way home, she'd need resources. The Emperor could probably help her in both departments.

"Shepard," she said. "My name is Alexia Shepard. I'm a soldier—" she stopped when Gelt scoffed again. "Problem?"

Gelt turned his head towards her. "Unless you are a practitioner of the magical arts, I highly doubt a nation would have a woman serve in their army."

For an instant, Shepard was tempted to punch the Wizard in the face, mask or no mask. The only reason she didn't was because that would have done more harm than good. Still, while Shepard had been holding herself together well since arriving in this world, she was only barely hiding the fact that she was confused and very scared, and Gelt had just become the outlet for all that pent-up stress.

As angry as she was, however, she couldn't just hit the man, or even yell at him. She needed allies, and attacking—verbally or otherwise—a close advisor to the Emperor wouldn't help her.

"I can handle myself," she said through gritted teeth.

"I can vouch for Shepard," Helborg cut in. "Killing a Vampire is no small accomplishment."

Karl Franz held up one hand, forestalling further argument. "I do not doubt your abilities, Miss Shepard. I had you brought to Altdorf, but what is it you plan to do? I will not stand in the way of your choice."

 _Unless you become a threat,_ went unsaid, but Shepard could see it in the man's eyes.

"I'm a soldier," Shepard said calmly. "That's all I've been for most of my life, because all I've ever wanted is to protect those who can't protect themselves." All of the men present, even Gelt, nodded in approval. "But whatever brought me here took me away from my home, and I have no idea how to get back."

Gelt tapped a gloved finger against his metal-covered chin. "Around the time of your arrival, there was a great surge in the Winds of Magic. All of my brethren felt it. If magic brought you to the Empire, perhaps magic can send you back."

Shepard was just glad that no one asked _where_ she was from. She doubted that that would go over well.

"I am sure that our new friend would appreciate it if some of your peers can look into helping her, yes?" Karl Franz asked Gelt, who nodded. "Then until you are able to get home, I have an offer for you, Miss Shepard."

"I'm listening," Shepard said.

"You say that you wish to protect the helpless." Though he didn't phrase it as a question, Shepard nodded. "I can give you a commission within the Imperial Army. You would serve as an officer, and fight those who would attack us. In return, I can give you the authority to investigate anything that might relate to you getting home."

Shepard nearly choked on her own breath; this was better than she could have hoped for! "Sounds good to me."

Karl Franz smiled. "Excellent! There would be certain conditions, of course, but we can work those out in the morning. For now, I suggest that we rest; the hour grows late, and I am sure that we could all use some sleep."

Shepard glanced out a window; sure enough, the sun was starting to set. She had to wonder if Karl Franz had set the meeting with her around this time just so that he wouldn't slight any of the nobles by dismissing them. If that was the case, he was a shrewder politician than most of the ones she knew from back home.

…

That night, as Shepard went to bed in the room given to her, her mind was filled with uncertainty. While she had taken the best option available to her, she still had no idea what came next.

 _Though apparently, some Wizards do,_ she thought wryly, before a terrifying notion occurred to her. _Oh shit, what if they can read minds or something?_

She didn't plan on revealing her origins to anyone, but Helborg and Karl Franz seemed like understanding—or perhaps 'tolerant' would be a better word—than most, and might accept her story. On the other hand, they might burn her at the stake or something. Still, she didn't like the idea of lying to those two.

At least one thing was going her way, she realized. She had a purpose, and would get resources to pursue it. Shepard had to remember that in order to get home, she had to keep the Wizards who would help her alive, and they would only help her if she helped the Empire. It reminded her of the Reaper War, where favors were traded for other favors.

 _It's a good thing I'm used to doing that already,_ she thought, and finally started to sleep.

However, she had no idea that beady little eyes were watching as she drifted off. The two Skaven assassins looked at the mysterious Human, then at each other.

"Strange she-man-thing," one whispered. "We must report-tell of this."

 **So, that's the end. Obviously, this didn't have any action, but there will be plenty of that in the future.**

 **Now, one question you might be asking is why Karl Franz just accepted Shepard so easily. Well, if you read his lore, he has relied heavily on the future-telling abilities of the Celestial Order. They are responsible for his first great victory as Emperor, so if they say 'hey, there's a woman who is going to do important stuff', he's going to probably believe them. However, while he isn't necessarily looking a gift-horse in the mouth, he isn't going to completely trust Shepard right off the bat. If she's a threat, he'll kill her, no questions asked, and he's not going to make her a General on the spot. She'll have to prove herself.**

 **By the way, yes, Parral is going to be a recurring character. There will be a lot of those. In fact, expect about a dozen original characters (named ones, and thus important) to sign up with Shepard, plus a lot of nameless mooks. If you haven't noticed in the quotes, Shepard will be a General at some point, and Generals have armies. I might include Gotrek and Felix for a short adventure with Shepard (or have Shepard go on an adventure with them, as the case may be), if only because those two are two of my all-time favorite characters in all of fiction.**

 **There are two more things I want to address. First, I will** _ **not**_ **be doing End Times stuff. I may borrow a few ideas or characters, but I will** _ **not**_ **actually do any of that crap. It annoyed me. Second, and this ties in with the first point, there won't be any Age of Sigmar nuttiness. I like a few elements of AoS, but I'm not getting into that. I'm just not.**

 **Next Chapter: Some time passes, and Shepard prepares for war. However, she may have a problem with a certain Mad Count along the way.**

 **I am the Lord of the End Muffin!**


	4. Proving Grounds

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. HOWEVER, I'D BE WILLING TO ACCEPT DONATIONS OF MAGICAL WEAPONS AND/OR THAT BLACK HOLE GUN.**

 **If there's one thing I've come to fear, hate, and respect in equal measures in Warhammer, it's cavalry. Devastating on the charge, capable of screwing up large chunks of an army (mine or the enemy's), and often looking cool as hell, cavalry seems to be the bane of everyone's existence. Shepard hasn't been in the Old World long enough to hate cavalry, per se, but she sure as hell hates horses.**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 4

Proving Grounds

" _Back home, nearly every girl wanted a pony at some point in their lives. I'll admit that I wanted one when I was a kid. Heck, I still have dreams about horses, only now, I dream about them being on fire. Hmmm… burning ponies…"—General Alexia Shepard_

…

"Again!"

Shepard looked down at the soldier on the ground and sighed. "No. You lost, now man up and admit it."

"You must have used some kind of trick," the stubborn man growled. "There's no way you could have beaten me otherwise."

Shepard sighed again; this particular man—whose name she hadn't even bothered learning—had challenged her to a dozen fights over the week. He had yet to beat her, and even the other soldiers in the keep were getting tired of watching him get pummeled.

"At least let him hit you once or twice, Lieutenant!" one of the soldiers watching shouted. "It might make things interesting!"

"And lose my spot in the rankings?" Shepard joked, though she didn't take her eyes off the idiot in front of her, in case he tried something. "No thanks."

The other soldiers laughed. Shepard had held the spot of top fighter in Helmgart for the last two weeks, ever since she'd been posted there.

Life had certainly taken a strange turn for Shepard. After meeting with the Emperor, she'd been given an officer's commission—a Lieutenant, which was actually a demotion for her—and began her training.

In many ways, she was already the best in certain fields. She had a good head for strategy, both for small groups and even sizeable armies—though she had to adjust certain tactics to take into account the technology and abilities of the Empire—and between her previous training and Cerberus upgrades, she was stronger, faster and more durable than almost any Human alive.

The only problem she'd had was learning how to fight using a melee weapon. Aside from basic usage of a knife and her omni-blade, she'd never had to use a close-quarters weapon beyond her fists. She was a quick study, though, and she became particularly skilled in axes and hammers, preferring to complement their raw power with the defensive options of a shield.

Her armor was nothing to sneeze at, either. Thanks to the patronage of Karl Franz, Shepard had been crafted a beautiful set of full plate armor. Unlike the armor of many knights and officers, Shepard had asked hers to be given as little ornamentation as possible, especially with the helmet. She found the plumes and decorations so many others used to be ridiculous; she might as well have a big sign over her head saying 'shoot me'. So aside from the knees and elbows of her armor that had been sculpted to look like skulls, Shepard had been left with a suit of bare metal; even the helmet was almost boring, with a triangular grille that had a few holes to let in air.

There was only one thing Shepard had added: a large, red stripe going from the right shoulder-plate, down the upper and lower arm, and ending at the back of her gauntlet. Two small white stripes were also added, one of either side of the red stripe. It wasn't much, but it was a reminder of home.

Six months of training passed, and Shepard had exceeded the expectations of her instructors; granted, they had been very low at the beginning, because they thought a woman couldn't surpass any of the men, but Shepard soon had them changing their minds. Finally, after passing her final tests, Shepard had been given her first assignment.

At first, she'd been excited; while she didn't look forward to going to war with anyone, she'd been cooped up for six months and was getting bored. Even studying every scrap of lore she could find in the library and occasionally spending time with her new friend Parral hadn't alleviated her boredom. She'd asked Helborg what her first mission would be. Would she be fighting a greenskin invasion, or a herd of Beastmen? Had the Dark Elves launched another raid, or was it the forces of Chaos?

To her eternal irritation—and really, she'd been as excited as Jenkins, now long-dead, for her first mission—she'd been put on garrison duty at the border fortress of Helmgart, watching the generally-peaceful pass that separated the Empire and Bretonnia.

Shepard had been told that the Colleges of Magic were still investigating the cause of what brought her here, but that was only the official story. In truth, she suspected that, while Karl Franz was Emperor, there were more than a few puffed-up nobles who didn't want to see a woman get any sort of military command, and so pulled strings to have her sit there and do absolutely nothing.

It reminded her of the Council when they said she couldn't go after Saren. If it hadn't been for Helborg looking just as pissed about it as she felt, she might have punched him when he'd given her the assignment.

And so, for the last two weeks, Shepard had been holed up in Helmgart. She'd investigated every nook and cranny, inspected every cannon, gun and blade, and had sparred with anyone who wanted to prove himself. Since she was still undefeated, many of the soldiers either fought to impress her—with their skills in combat or in romance; some were improving in the former, and Shepard wasn't interested in the latter—or outright hated her.

The fool on the ground in front of her was firmly in the second camp.

Thankfully, most of the other officers at the keep were either impressed with her, or didn't care either way. The only one who was definitely out to get her was her immediate superior, Captain Gruber, an arrogant prick—not just in Shepard's opinion, but everyone else in the keep as well—who seemed hell-bent on sleeping with her; since she'd turned him down hard enough to make the other officers laugh and wince in equal measure, he was determined to make her life miserable.

Shepard had dealt with the Citadel Council; Gruber couldn't even make her frown.

As it was, Gruber happened to be in some meeting with the other Captains and General of Helmgart, Leonid von Cresswick, and couldn't try ruining her day at that point. Shepard had been left to fend for herself against her challengers. Since she was still undefeated in the sparring circle, she was doing well.

Shepard squatted—and had to marvel at the skill of the Dwarfs who forged her armor, because it was almost as flexible as her armor from back home—a short distance away from the soldier as he struggled to sit up.

"Look, I don't care if you hate me," Shepard said calmly, yet sternly. "However, I am your superior officer, and we're both on the same side. I'm tired of you trying to prove something, either to me or to yourself, so can we _please_ stop this?"

"What's the matter?" the soldier sneered as he got up. "Worried I might actually beat you?"

"Not really," Shepard said as she also rose and took a step back. "I'm concerned you might kill yourself before something important happens."

The soldier's face went red as he raised his wooden training sword and charged. Shepard heard the cry of outrage from those watching, even the ones who didn't like her; their bout had ended, and he was attacking her outside of a 'friendly' spar. Shepard calmly sidestepped the man, then drove the butt of her wooden hammer between his shoulder blades, knocking him over again.

"Take him to the stockade," she ordered curtly, and a pair of soldiers roughly picked the man up by his arms. "Have him stay there until tomorrow. If he doesn't cool off by then, I'll bring it up with General von Cresswick."

One good thing about having the patronage of both the Emperor and the Reiksmarshal was that von Cresswick listened to her if she brought up a matter. Granted, the only time she'd done so was when she pointed out a small crack in the powder room that, if it rained, could spell disaster for their stores. Von Cresswick had realized that Shepard only brought up an issue if it was urgent; after repairing the powder room, he'd asked her to keep an eye out for any other matters that escaped others' attention.

On a personal level, Shepard liked von Cresswick; he was a rather jolly man who excelled in defensive warfare, particularly against cavalry. Considering who was right next door, he had to be. The only problem she had with the man was that he was a little overconfident in the capabilities of Helmgart. In Shepard's experience, when you thought you were unbeatable, that meant you were about to get a rather large slice of humble pie.

"Lieutenant Shepard!" a messenger cried out as he ran up to her. "A party bearing the colors of the Empire is approaching from the pass. The sentries report that they are moving with haste."

 _Which would only happen if something bad was going on,_ Shepard thought. "Tell the men on the walls to watch for an attack, and get the gates open. Let's get our people inside as soon as possible."

The messenger saluted. "Yes, Lieutenant."

Shouts rang throughout the fortress as soldiers strapped on armor, picked up weapons, and stood ready. Shepard tossed aside her wooden hammer and grabbed her real one from where it lay on a bench. It wasn't an elegant weapon by Imperial standards, mostly because Shepard didn't like getting attached to a weapon she might have to replace. Her hammer was a solid, square chunk of metal with a short spike jutting forward from each corner of the head, which was attached to a haft that was as long as her arm. Between its weight, the spikes, and the strength Shepard could put behind a blow, she could easily shatter bricks.

The gates rumbled open, just wide enough for a party of mounted nobles and their escort to ride through. From the way the horses were frothing, they had been at full gallop for at least a couple of hours; more than one beast had a few cuts on its flank, as did several riders.

"Who is in charge here?" a loud, aristocratic voice demanded. "I must speak to him!"

"I'm sure that General von Cresswick will be with you shortly," Shepard assured, though with all the jostling horses, she couldn't identify the speaker.

"He'd better!" the same voice said. "Daisy and I need to warn him about the incoming attack."

 _Daisy?_ Shepard thought, as one of the riders shoved his way past the others.

He was a fit man, perhaps a few years older than Shepard. His outfit was almost ridiculously flamboyant, a stark contrast to Shepard's plain armor. From the black and yellow heraldry, he was from Averland, the southernmost province of the Empire. On his head was a huge hat, out of which sprung a truly enormous feather. At his sides were a dagger, and a sword she'd seen before—both Karl Franz and Kurt Helborg bore Runefangs just like it. That meant that this man was one of the Elector Counts!

"I am Count Marius Leitdorf of Averland," he said, looking down at Shepard from his horse.

It was a good thing that Leitdorf had decided to introduce himself, because Shepard hadn't actually memorized who ruled which province. She had figured that she'd be traveling a lot and wouldn't need to know whose land she was moving through.

 _I should have known that that would come back to bite me in the ass,_ Shepard thought, before saluting the man. "Sire, I am Lieutenant Alexia Shepard. I'll show you to the General."

It chafed at Shepard to call anyone 'Sire' or 'Lord'. Saluting, she could handle, but she hated the idea of anyone having dominion over others, much less over her, due to birthright. Still, if she wanted to survive this world, she'd have to swallow her pride on a few matters.

Leitdorf seemed to take Shepard's gender in stride, because he didn't even blink. "Well, come on, then! Daisy doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Shepard was about to ask who the hell Daisy even was, but then she saw Leitdorf's retainers glancing at the man's white horse, whose barding was almost as ornate as its—her?—rider.

 _Oh god,_ Shepard thought in mounting horror, recalling the Leitdorf had said that both he and Daisy needed to talk to von Cresswick. _He's insane, isn't he?_

Rather than argue with the Count, she simply bit her lip and began walking towards the center of the keep, where von Cresswick and the other senior officers were already coming out to investigate the disturbance.

Von Cresswick himself led the party of a dozen Captains; his silver armor was more ornate than Shepard's, and the sheath of his sword was chased with gold, but Shepard had seen him practice with that blade, and for all his bluster, the man was a competent swordsman.

"Lieutenant Shepard, I hope you have a good reason for—oh." Von Cresswick had had a tolerant air about him, but he'd paled when he caught sight of Leitdorf. "My Lord, I was not expecting you back so soon. Is all well in Bretonnia?"

Leitdorf scowled. "No, General, all is _not_ well. Those lunatics tried to kill me and my men! Honestly, they can't seem to take a joke, and now an army is riding this way!"

To his credit, von Cresswick only blinked twice, then began barking orders for the officers to ready their men. Shepard tried not to grimace when von Cresswick gestured for Gruber to stay behind, but at least it gave Shepard a chance to listen in and find out more about the situation.

"Can you tell me more about this army, Sire?" von Cresswick asked.

"Mostly knights, maybe some of their peasant soldiers," Leitdorf said, as casually as if they were discussing the weather. "About a thousand or so. That was the garrison of Parravon, after all, and that fop, Baugard, has them all under his thumb."

"A thousand knights," von Cresswick mused, mostly to himself. "If they don't have any siege weapons, we can hold them indefinitely."

"Oh, there were siege weapons," Leitdorf said, sounding almost bored now. "I saw half a dozen trebuchets before I left."

Von Cresswick scowled. "That makes this more difficult."

"Sirs?" Shepard called out. "May I ask something?"

Gruber scoffed. "No, Lieutenant, you may not run and hide; the menfolk will be too busy fighting to protect you."

He might have been her commanding officer, but Shepard ignored him; however, to everyone's surprise, Leitdorf's expression became thunderous as he drew his Runefang in a blur and placed the edge against Gruber's neck.

"The Lieutenant is a soldier of the Empire, and you will give her the respect she deserves!" he roared; then, as if a switch had been thrown, he calmly sheathed his sword and nodded at Shepard. "Please, ask your question."

Shepard was starting to like the man, if only because of his unpredictability. "Sire, do we know the reason for this attack? If there's a diplomatic answer, I'm sure both Bretonnia and the Empire would prefer that over a war."

Von Cresswick gave a tired sigh. "Trust me, Lieutenant, I would like nothing better. However, Bretonnian politics are… well, backwards and insane. Unless the King of Bretonnia himself is involved, the various lords do whatever they please. Although I must confess to be as curious as you regarding the reason for this attack. Could you explain, Count Leitdorf?"

The Elector Count rolled his eyes. "We were having dinner with Baugard, when I realized that there was a troll in the room. I was concerned about the safety of all present, so I shouted the warning as loudly as possible." His voice then turned into a falsetto of his own tone. "I cried out, 'Troll! Troll! Sigmar preserve us, a troll!'" he then shook his head. "I only realized later that the 'troll' I saw was actually Baugard's wife."

Leitdorf, von Cresswick, and even the still-stunned Gruber shuddered, while Shepard just stared at the Count.

"You mean we're about to fight a battle… because you called his wife ugly?"

With another sigh, von Cresswick shook his head. "Lieutenant, even here we know that Baugard's wife is _that_ hideous. The Count would not be the first to mistake her for a troll, though he might be the first to do so out loud."

Leitdorf looked immeasurably pleased with himself.

Shepard closed her eyes, took a breath, then silently counted backwards from ten before speaking. "Well, putting aside the reason, there's still a battle to fight."

"Agreed," von Cresswick said. "Our Helblaster Volley Guns can handle the knights, but the trebuchets are going to be a problem. Captain Gruber!"

"Yes, General?" Gruber said, finally snapping out of his fear-induced daze.

"Take your company outside the keep and stay hidden outside the mouth of the pass," von Cresswick instructed. "Wait until the knights pass by, and then engage the enemy's war machines. Sigmar willing, you will have destroyed them and circled back to the keep before the Bretonnians realize you've taken away the one thing that can get them inside."

Gruber saluted. "Yes, sir! Come, _Lieutenant_ Shepard, we have to organize the men!"

"Of course, Captain," Shepard said in a neutral voice as she followed after the annoying man.

"Count Leitdorf, will you be staying for the battle?" she heard von Cresswick ask.

"No, General, I will not," Leitdorf replied, and Shepard could practically hear his smile. "I must return to Averland with all haste. Daisy has been anxious to get home and watch the traveling minstrels!"

 _Yeah,_ Shepard thought, _he's insane._

…

Gruber's company consisted of a dozen regiments. Two were crossbowmen, four were swordsmen, and the other six were divided into three regiments of spearmen and halberdiers each. Gruber himself commanded one of the swordsmen regiments; it was typical of an officer to fight alongside his closest cronies, and that group of swordsmen was no exception.

Shepard, however, had attached herself to one of the halberdier regiments, led by a Sergeant named Richter. The Sergeant reminded Shepard of Garrus, in the way he was constantly checking the straps of his armor after drills; if he'd had a gun, Shepard would have said he was 'doing some calibrations'. The man even had scars on one side of his face, though he never spoke about how he got them.

The company had been quiet as they quickly marched to the mouth of Axe Bite Pass; their mission was a risky one, but if they succeeded, it would turn a battle into a slaughter. Even Shepard didn't mind easy wins, so she was determined to play her part.

"I can hear them coming," Gruber said, just loud enough for the other officers to hear him. "Everyone, get into position!"

He wasn't the only one who could hear the approaching Bretonnians; Shepard could even feel the vibrations in the ground as the knights came closer.

Shepard watched as the Imperial soldiers took cover behind small trees and shrubs. As the soldiers of Helmgart were part of the Reikland forces, their silver armor made it hard to hide, so Shepard had suggested that they dull the gleaming metal with dust or even mud. Gruber and his unit had scoffed at the notion, but most of the other soldiers had taken her suggestion to heart. From a distance, the company looked like a pile of forgotten armor and weapons.

Shepard hoped, anyway.

The growing sound of galloping horses grew even louder, and the sound began to echo in Shepard's helmet. She tuned it out, focusing instead on the men around her; more than a few looked nervous, and she didn't blame them. If they were spotted, they'd be outnumbered almost ten to one, with no chance of support.

Then the first knights rode out of the pass. Shepard had studied Bretonnian lore, but it was almost painful as her eyes were assaulted by an avalanche of yellow, purple, and green. She knew that each Bretonnian Knight was at least a minor lord in his own right, so unlike the organized regiments of the Empire, each knight that passed had his own style of dress and coat of arms. The knights were only loosely organized, probably by virtue of who was friends with whom.

One of Richter's halberdiers began shaking next to Shepard; she slowly put a hand on the back of his neck.

"Take a deep breath," she said, directly into his ear so that he could hear her. "Hold it for three seconds, then slowly let it out. Do that until you feel better."

The soldier nodded and did as instructed. After a few moments, he stopped trembling.

Then Gruber was in Shepard's face. "Are you done coddling that fool? The main force is almost past!"

Shepard only raised an eyebrow. "Then shouldn't you be ready to lead the charge?"

Gruber sneered and turned away. After the giant mass of knights streamed by, a smaller group of men, on foot this time, marched by; most were wielding crude halberds, but a score of them were pulling trebuchets.

 _Target identified,_ Shepard thought to herself as she pulled down her faceplate.

"Prepare to engage," Gruber said in a stage-whisper.

 _What?_ Shepard thought, suddenly panicked. "No, it's too soon! We need to let the knights get closer to Helmgart so that our guns can hit them!"

"They're right in front of us!" Gruber argued, though he kept his voice down. "We'll never get a better chance to take them out!"

"One more minute is all I'm asking for," Shepard said desperately, before adding in, "Sir."

Gruber actually seemed to consider it, and for a moment, Shepard had hope. Then the arrogant man sneered.

"And this is why you should never have left the kitchens, cowardly woman," he mocked. "You have no drive."

What neither Shepard nor Gruber noticed, however, was that most of the company had scowled at the latter's words. The only ones who had similar sneers were the swordsmen at Gruber's back, but the rest had gotten to know Shepard; she treated them with respect, and they could see in her eyes that she had more courage than most men. To see her insulted like this made more than one allow treasonous thoughts to go through his head.

"Follow me, men of the Empire!" Gruber cried, emphasizing 'men' as he drew his sword. "To battle and glory! For the Emperor!"

 _Damn it all,_ Shepard thought as Gruber and his unit charged. "All right, fine; crossbows, give us cover, one volley on the crews, then reposition to fire on any knights that turn around. Everyone else, we take out the guards, then get into defensive formations as quickly as possible!" when the various Sergeants nodded, she held her hammer up. "Charge!"

With a mighty cry, Shepard and the rest of the company charged after Gruber. The Bretonnian Men-at-arms let out a cry of their own as they were ambushed, but it was one of desperate fear. Gruber had already personally killed three of them, and the swordsmen with him had taken down a dozen more by the time the rest of the Imperial force finished their charge.

Shepard blocked a clumsy thrust with her shield, then smashed her hammer against the head of the nearest Bretonnian. Her weapon easily crushed his skull and pulped his brain to the point that Shepard barely had to pull to free her hammer from the mess. While a Bretonnian knight was skilled, the peasant-soldiers that they employed had little to no real training, and it clearly showed as the company massacred the panicked men. Those that tried to flee found their path blocked by the very trebuchets they had been assigned to protect.

By the time Shepard had killed her fourth target, the crews of the trebuchets had either been picked off by accurate crossbow bolts, or finished off by a regiment of spearmen that had broken past the guards. While the fighting began winding down, a regiment of halberdiers began chopping at the rope and bindings of the trebuchets, rendering them useless.

But Shepard had already stopped paying attention to the skirmish—it wasn't even a real battle; there were only some light injuries on their side—and was looking at the army of angry Bretonnian knights behind them.

The massed heavy guns of Helmgart were roaring, and dozens of knights had fallen in the first volley, and it looked like it would only get worse for the attackers from there. However, the rear units of the knights had noticed Gruber's attack and had wheeled around to counterattack.

"Here they come!" Shepard yelled. "Get into formation, quickly!"

Gruber scowled at Shepard giving orders, but then he noticed the score of knights barreling down on them and paled.

"Are you insane, woman!?" he demanded. "We can't face a charge like that! We must flee!"

Shepard didn't have the will, or the time, to argue. If they tried running, they'd be destroyed, simple as that. Their best chance was to survive this attack, then retreat in an orderly fashion before more knights showed up.

"If you want to leave, fine," Shepard said, then turned to the rest of the company. "Anyone want to join him?"

More than a few men looked nervous, but the Sergeants had guessed Shepard's thinking and held firm.

"With all due respect, Captain Gruber," Richter said lightly, "either stay and fight or get out of the way; we can't see the enemy as well with you standing there."

Gruber opened his mouth, jaw working in silent rage, before turning on his heel and running with his swordsmen. They were intercepted by a small group of the approaching knights and wiped out; Shepard noticed that the one who'd impaled Gruber on his lance had a white tabard and what looked like a model of a golden dragon on his helmet. She figured he was important.

Without sparing another thought for the now-dead Captain, Shepard urged her troops—and with Gruber dead, they really _were_ her troops now—into formation. The spearmen were in front, weapons leveled, while the halberdiers and remaining swordsmen were right behind them, ready to take advantage of any openings the spearmen created. To get higher elevation, the crossbowmen were standing on dismantled trebuchets.

"Crossbows, fire when ready!" Shepard shouted.

A moment later, bolts whizzed by overhead. The heavy armor and shields of the knights meant that they would still be charging, but Shepard noted that two of them had fallen from their saddles.

The Bretonnians were brave; moreover, they were some of the greatest knights in the world, and had exceptional weapons and armor. However, they were facing a foe that had been trained to fight against cavalry, had a defensive line, and was being led by someone who showed no fear, despite the wave of metal and horse that was almost upon her.

On a personal level, Shepard disliked horses. It had taken a week before her bruises faded after her first ride, and she'd never gotten the hang of riding during her training. To her, horses were bad-tempered, smelly creatures that existed solely to torment her. Since she couldn't counter cavalry with cavalry, she'd learned how best to fight them with what she had available.

As soon as the first knight was about to hit her, Shepard rolled, then swung her hammer as hard as she could. The horse screamed as its leg broke, and it fell on top of its rider. Even if the man was still alive, he wasn't going to be a problem.

The rest of the company had mixed results. Some of the knights, or their horses, were impaled upon the waiting spears, but more often than not, they simply slowed their charge enough to steer around them. The halberdiers and swordsmen countered, but the knights still had momentum; more Imperials died, but so did the knights.

It soon became apparent that, without the charge behind them, the Bretonnians would get dragged down by sheer numbers, teamwork, and stubborn determination. Already, half the knights were dead, but nearly thirty of Shepard's men were on the ground, either wounded or dead.

"You!" the white knight that had killed Gruber shouted. "Face me, Imperial!"

Shepard realized that he was talking to her; well, if it kept him distracted from coordinating his men, she could oblige him. It wasn't like she could do anything more; her men knew what they had to do.

In answer to his challenge, Shepard stepped away from the melee and idly swung her hammer. The knight dug his heels into his horse and charged, lance aimed for Shepard's heart. Shepard rolled again, but this man was more prepared; his lance scored a glancing blow against Shepard's helmet, denting it and throwing off her return swing, which only hit his leg hard enough to bruise.

With her helmet askew, Shepard ripped it off and tossed it aside. The move also had the unintended effect of completely surprising her opponent.

"A woman!?" he shouted.

"Yeah, yeah, get it out of your system," Shepard said.

The knight scowled—at least, Shepard thought he did, but she couldn't tell what he was doing under that helmet—and readied his lance again.

"I am Lord Baugard, leader of this crusade. I would see Count Leitdorf dead for the insult he has dealt to my wife. I do not wish to stain my lance with the blood of a woman; step aside."

Shepard wanted to roll her eyes. "I'm Lieutenant Shepard, of the Empire. Sorry, I know he's a bit nutty, but I can't let you kill the Count. And as for the whole 'staining your lance' thing… how do you know I won't kill _you_ first?"

Rather than reply, Baugard charged again. Shepard deflected the blow with her shield, but it was torn from her arm in the process. Still, it gave her the opening she needed to catch the horse's back leg with her hammer; the leg didn't break, but the horse still fell. Baugard jumped clear of his saddle in time and rolled with the fall. He stood up, tossed aside his lance, and drew an ornate sword.

Shepard eyed her opponent; he arguably had the more dangerous weapon, but Shepard was more used to fighting on foot than he was, and his armor wasn't as flexible as hers, though she had a glaring weakness in that she had no helmet. Neither of them had shields, so they would both have to rely on dodging and blocking with their weapons.

This time, Shepard moved first, swinging her hammer with a horizontal blow. Baugard jumped back, avoiding the strike, but he didn't have time to strike back with anything more than a glancing blow that skidded off Shepard's shoulder plate.

Shepard's next move was a kick that caught Baugard in the knee; it staggered him, and then Shepard drove her shoulder into his chest before punching him in the face. The helmet mitigated the damage, and Baugard responded with a punch of his own that caught Shepard in the cheek. Shepard rolled with it, then spat out a small globule of blood.

"That's your last one, jackass," Shepard said calmly as she dropped her hammer, then stepped in close, too close for Baugard to use his sword, and drove her knee between his legs. Armored though he might have been, the blow still hurt, and he doubled over. Shepard then grabbed his helmeted head and drove her knee into _that_ several times. She proceeded to rip the helmet off of him, exposing a face that reminded her of a bulldog.

"Damn… you… wench…" Baugard wheezed.

Shepard only shrugged as she picked up her hammer. "I'd say you need to work on your insults, but…" she swung her weapon with both hands, crushing Baugard's skull like a grape. "Well, you're dead."

With their leader dead, the remaining knights retreated, and the Imperials let them; by the time the duel had ended, nearly half the company was dead or wounded. Shepard retrieved her dented helmet, but left her broken shield; she could always get another one of those. After a moment, she grabbed Baugard's sword; she figured that someone would need a way of identifying the body, and since his head was now paste, the weapon would have to do.

The sound of horns and horses caught their attention; the guns of Helmgart had stopped firing, and hundreds of bodies, both Human and horse, littered the field. There were maybe two hundred Bretonnians remaining, and they were running for Axe Bite Pass.

Shepard quickly ordered her men to gather up the wounded and get out of the way of the retreating knights. They would have to return later to retrieve the trampled remains of the dead.

 _Caught out in the open against cavalry, we still won and even killed the enemy leader,_ Shepard mused. _Not a bad way to start a career, I guess._

…

Shepard led her company back to Helmgart to find a hero's welcome for them all. Their mission had been no small task, and the garrison was treating the survivors and the wounded like conquering champions. The fact that Shepard had slain the enemy leader only raised her standing among those who respected her, and more than a few of those who didn't found themselves questioning their previous opinion.

The celebrations had only just begun when a large army of the Reiksguard, led by Kurt Helborg, arrived to bolster the keep's defenses in case Bretonnia launched another assault. At least, that was what Shepard initially believed. Later, Helborg drew her, von Cresswick, and a few select officers aside for a private meeting.

"I've spoken with a messenger from Bretonnia," he announced. "The King has denounced Baugard's actions and has apologized for any and all loss of life."

Satisfied smiles broke out among the Imperials, but Shepard was confused. "That's it? One of his guys attacks the Empire, and all we get is an apology?"

Helborg blinked, and then he remembered that Shepard wasn't exactly a native. "An apology from a sovereign ruler holds much weight in court. It will be many years before Bretonnia is able to recover that kind of political clout."

Shepard nodded in understanding. In this world, a man's word, especially one from king, held a lot of weight.

"Had Count Leitdorf not left, I would have offered him the Emperor's thanks," Helborg continued, though he didn't sound too bothered. "With Baugard removed, relationships between the Empire and Bretonnia will stabilize. That man had been trying to start a war with us for years."

"With all due respect, Reiksmarshal," von Cresswick said, now frowning, "it was Lieutenant Shepard who killed Baugard. What does the Count have to do with that?"

"It is true, Lieutenant Shepard's actions are to be commended," Helborg said with a nod, "but it was the Count's actions that drew him into a battle he had little hope of winning."

"The Emperor knew that Count Leitdorf would provoke Baugard?" another officer asked.

Helborg snorted. "That man is known as the Mad Count for a reason. He could drive a healer to murder."

Shepard's mind raced. The Emperor had sent Leitdorf to the political mission in Bretonnia, hoping that he'd piss off Baugard enough to make him launch an attack? All so that an annoying piece on the board was removed? If that was the case, then Shepard and everyone else in Helmgart had been used. Maybe it wasn't deliberately meant to hurt the Imperial soldiers, but Shepard hated when sacrifices like that were made without telling the troops. If they had known that they were drawing a particular enemy into a trap, then maybe fewer of Shepard's men would have died.

A hand on her shoulder made her look up; Helborg was giving her a look. "Did that chair do something to you, Lieutenant?"

Shepard glanced back down to see that the armrests of her chair were starting to splinter under her grip.

She gave Helborg a look of her own. _I don't like being used._

Helborg gave her a stern, yet oddly sympathetic nod. "We are all part of a greater whole, Lieutenant, even if we do not like our place in it.

"In any rate, General von Cresswick, I'm afraid that I must apologize in advance."

The General tilted his head. "Sir?"

"I know that she has been of great help today, but Lieutenant Shepard is being reassigned. The Emperor is putting together an army from across all provinces to engage threats that the Reiksguard are not available to face. If it's no trouble, that process would be sped up if you could volunteer any units that would be beneficial to the cause."

Shepard was just as surprised as anyone else. Why was she being reassigned so soon? Granted, Shepard wanted nothing to do with a garrison duty, but it was still unexpected.

General von Cresswick stroked his mustache for a moment before answering. "Well, I'd hate to lose any of my men, Shepard included…"

"Helmgart is scheduled to be reinforced with state troops within the week," Helborg said smoothly. "Until they arrive, the Reiksguard will remain here to deter any Bretonnians who might want to avenge their lord."

"Well, if that is the case," von Cresswick sighed, then turned to Shepard. "Lieutenant, do you object to this reassignment, and would you suggest a regiment to take with you?"

Shepard quickly shook her head. "I don't object to this, sir. As for someone to come with me… I'd like to ask him first, but Sergeant Richter's Halberdiers performed extremely well in the battle. If I can, I'd take them with me."

The usual jovial smile returned to von Cresswick's face. "I have no objections, and I doubt that Sergeant Richter does, either! I hate to lose you, Lieutenant, but if it is the Emperor's will, then who am I to refuse?"

"One more thing," Helborg said. "The Emperor has decreed that Shepard is to be second in command of this army. She cannot do so as a mere Lieutenant. Due to her new post and her actions in the battle, I hereby promote her to the rank of Captain."

Shepard fought to keep the smile off her face as she rose and saluted. "Thank you, sir. I won't let you down."

Helborg nodded. "You earned it, Captain. Tell Sergeant Richter and his men to get some rest; you all move out the day after tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," Shepard said, then turned to leave. _That'll give me some time to get my helmet fixed. Oh, and I'll need a new shield, too._

…

"Reassigned, huh?" Richter tapped his chin. "Well, my men and I have been here a while. I'm starting to think the only leg-exercises we've been doing is when we're standing at attention. It'll be good to get some marching in."

"So you're okay with this?" Shepard asked.

Richter grinned. "Absolutely, Lieutenant—sorry, it's Captain now, isn't it?"

Shepard snorted in a very unladylike way. "Unless there's someone important around, just call me Shepard. Everyone always does."

Richter gave her a piercing look. "Who's 'everyone'? Are they those friends you mentioned last week?"

Shepard remembered that she had implied that she'd traveled with friends and fought many terrible things before she'd joined—or conscripted, depending on who was asked—the Empire.

"Yeah, but not just them," Shepard said, purposely remaining vague. "But most people always called me Shepard, even if they just met me. I never found out why."

"Well, it _is_ shorter than 'Alexia'," Richter said with a shrug.

"Right, I forgot, people are lazy asses," Shepard grinned and lightly kicked the man in the shin. Richter feigned agonizing pain, and the two started to laugh.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," Shepard said, getting up from where they sat outside the barracks, "I have to get lectured by the smithy about not denting my helmet."

Richter's laughter followed after her as she left.

…

Far in the frozen north of the Empire, Henrietta von Carstein waited on the shore, just beyond the lapping waves. She considered that it was a good thing she no longer felt the effect of the cold, because the harsh weather would have killed a mortal easily.

The only thing she _did_ feel, however, was a growing sense of annoyance. The message she'd received had said that they would arrive today, but night was already falling. If she had been lied to, someone was going to pay.

 _After Shepard, of course,_ she thought savagely.

Finally, a shape appeared in the mists, which resolved into a large ship, easily capable of holding hundreds of warriors. It was followed by two similar vessels at its flanks, but none of them looked seaworthy. The wood was coated in a sickly greenish-yellow slime, and the sails looked more like diseased skin than cloth. As the ships got closer, Henrietta realized that the sails _were_ made of skin, stitched together with dried tendons.

Henrietta twitched slightly, but reminded herself that this was the price of dealing with these people.

With a tortured groan that sounded more human than straining wood, the three boats ran aground. Figures began jumping, or falling, over the sides, and staggered onto dry land. Each of these people had once been mere mortals, but now many of them were barely recognizable as Human. Putrid, decaying skin hung off their bones, rolls of fat bulging under corroded armor. Rusty weapons were gripped in rotting hands, though some of those hands were being used to hold intestines back.

If these creatures were undead, Henrietta might have accepted their disgusting appearance. However, despite what her eyes told her, these beings were still very much alive. They were followers of Chaos, specifically Nurgle, the Lord of Pestilence and Decay.

The largest of these warriors waddled up to Henrietta. He towered over her, his body swelling with unholy power, and a cloud of fat flies buzzed around him. His mucus-green, rusty armor did not hang over his bloated form; rather, its edges had fused with fat and skin, like the shell of a beetle. He wore a helmet that concealed all features; in fact, there wasn't even a single hole that would allow him to see, yet he walked as if he could. He carried a massive axe over one shoulder, holding it easily, despite it being large enough that even a Vampire would have struggled to lift it. Like its wielder, the axe was ugly, pitted and rusty, but it also radiated a terrible power.

Clearly, this once-mortal claimed great favor from Grandfather Nurgle.

Henrietta made a show of giving a bow. "Lord Malarius, I am honored that you have come here."

"Skip the formalities, little blood-drinker," Malarius, Lord of Bile, burbled with a wave of his pudgy hand. "Tell me why I should not kill you and feed your corpse to the maggots."

Henrietta resisted the urge to snap. How _dare_ this pawn of the Dark Gods treat her so!? However, she held back; for vengeance, she would swallow her pride.

"As I said in my letter, I am willing to guide you to locations where you can spread your… your master's gift. In exchange, I would like your assistance in killing someone."

Malarius tilted his head. "One person? Who could give a _mighty_ Vampire so much trouble?" he paused, and if Henrietta could see his face, she would have witnessed a frown. "I am no fool, undead wench; I will not go after the southerners' Emperor, not without an army far larger than what I have available at my back."

Henrietta shook her head. "No, great one, it is no one of importance to the Empire, only to me. Her name is Alexia Shepard, and I have been tracking her movements for some time. My spies inform me that she is heading north soon, to join a small army. You will have a mighty battle, and I will have my revenge."

"A woman, serving in an army?" Malarius laughed; drool and bile dribbled down his throat. "The southern dogs must be truly desperate." Then Malarius saw something in Henrietta's eyes that unsettled even one such as him. "What has one mortal woman done to earn your wrath?"

Henrietta bared her teeth, and on instinct, the warriors behind Malarius tensed. "She took away the one thing I truly cared for in this world. I would see her dead for that."

Malarius recognized the emotions on the Vampire's face; it was a hatred and loathing that would not have been out of place among Khorne's bloodthirsty bastards.

"Will you join us in battle?" Malarius asked, if only so he could keep an eye on the rage-maddened Vampire.

"No, I will not," Henrietta said. "I only care that that bitch dies, so I will do what I can to ensure that her little army encounters yours. As long as you make her death as horrible as you can, I will be content."

One of Malarius' champions stepped forward; he would have crossed his arms, but his left had long since mutated into a mass of rotted tentacles. "Even if we agree to kill this woman, what makes you think that the southerners won't send another army to fight us instead?"

"Do not speak for me, fool," Malarius said mildly, but the champion reeled back, as if struck. "However, I would also like an answer to that question, wench."

Henrietta smiled, then held out a mass of papers, maps enchanted specifically to resist decay. "I have not been idle in the months since I sent you my invitation. I have been gathering servants of my own, drawing off many other Imperial forces with bands of undead. Shepard's little army is gathering in the north because they have no one else available to cover the hole in their defenses."

"You have ensured this battle," Malarius stated, rather than asked.

"I have," Henrietta said.

For a long moment, the two stared at each other, and at one point, it even looked like they would attack. Malarius' grip on his axe tightened just a hair, and Henrietta's hand drifted towards one of the two blades she had at her sides—replacements she'd had forged out of the remains of her old sword.

Finally, Malarius threw his head back and laughed again. He turned to his army, now gathered on the shore.

"Come, my brothers!" he wheezed. "We go to spread our master's blessing upon the weak-willed southerners, and will pass it on even more in glorious battle! We march, for Grandfather Nurgle!"

As the plagued host shambled inland, Henrietta sneered. "You march for whatever foolish reason you want," she whispered. "I will only be satisfied when I see Shepard die screaming."

 **So, there we go. Shepard gets her first fight, and proves that she can kick ass, no matter what world she's in. I know that this battle was short, but upon researching this fight, which happened in canon, and for the reason Leitdorf—possibly one of my favorite characters ever—described, it was truly a one-sided battle, even without Shepard around. I don't know if Baugard actually died or not in canon, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that Shepard won, the Empire is in a position of strength in the west, and now our protagonist's journey truly begins.**

 **And then there's Henrietta. For a villain whose sole motivation is revenge, it is** _ **really**_ **fun to write her. And now you see what she's been doing these last six months; an army of Nurgle Chaos Warriors are here, and with Henrietta's assistance, they've got a shot that gets them past the Empire's defenses.**

 **Next Chapter: Shepard meets her new friends, but it isn't long before she's thrust into the role of leader again. Her journey to find a way home must be put on hold if she wants to stop the rising tide of plague that threatens to overwhelm the north.**

 **These are the Muffin Times!**


	5. Resolve, Part 1

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. WHEN NURGLE IS INVOLVED, PLEASE KEEP A SEPARATE SUPPLY OF OXYGEN ON HAND AT ALL TIMES. THIS HAS BEEN YOUR REQUIRED PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT.**

 **Oh, Shepard. You think that just because you have powerful friends and have had a couple of fights you know what happens next? Silly Shepard…** _ **you have no idea.**_

Honor-Bound

Chapter 5

Resolve, Part 1

" _Fighting on your own is easy. Fighting alongside someone you don't trust is hard. Good thing I always had a knack for helping people get along."—General Alexia Shepard._

…

The small coastal village of Regenwasser echoed with the screams of the dying. Despite being close to the northern border of the Empire, the village had always been relatively peaceful. Knowing the threat the northern barbarians posed, the Empire had kept at least some patrols there, and the villagers supplemented the soldiers' supplies with any additional fish they caught. In return, the soldiers took it upon themselves to spare a few extra minutes to check up on the village.

However, with attacks from the undead spreading the Empire's patrols thin, there had only been a token force guarding Regenwasser, and it had been slaughtered by the plagued warriors. Malarius and his followers tore their way into the village, but only those who fought back were killed. Those who tried to flee or beg for mercy were simply left in the warriors' presence until they became consumed by disease. A handful chose to openly worship Nurgle, and though they were still afflicted by illness, they didn't die, and were added to Malarius' ranks.

"My Lord," one of Malarius' champions gurgled, kneeling to his master. "The village is ours. Those who chose to accept Grandfather Nurgle's blessing have been given weapons, and we await your orders."

Malarius coughed, and mucus dripped from his chin. "We go to the next village. It is further south, and according to the Vampire wench, it is where much food is traded. We shall spread our gifts even further!"

The warriors who heard him gave a ragged cheer, but Malarius could feel their anticipation. The battle outside the village had been disappointingly brief; Malarius wanted a real enemy to best, so that he could earn further favor with his god. He hoped that this 'Shepard' that the Vampire so hated would give him what he wanted.

…

When Shepard had been told that she would be joining an army, she expected a force on par with that of the Helmgart garrison. Imperial armies were usually large groups of soldiers from the same province, unless some immeasurable threat forced multiple provinces to unite. Instead, when Shepard and Richter's regiment arrived at the camp in Nordland, the Empire's northernmost province, they found a barely-organized mishmash of regiments from the width and breadth of the Empire.

Swordsmen from Ostland glared at Spearmen from Talabecland, and Halberdiers from Stirland kept a wary eye on Handgunners from Ostermark, and so on. Regiments grouped together with others from their own province, and no one seemed willing to break the ice.

"This might be a challenge," Shepard whispered to herself.

Still, Richter heard her. "Do you want me to try getting the Reiklanders to open up a bit, Captain?"

Shepard smiled, grateful for the support, but shook her head. "If I'm going to earn anyone's respect, I need to do it myself. Just show anyone who asks that you've got my back."

For a moment, Shepard worried that she might have overstepped herself by assuming that Richter did indeed support her.

Thankfully, the Sergeant only saluted. "So long as I live, Captain. You've earned my trust, and I'll make sure anyone who doubts you sees the error of his ways."

Shepard felt a warm sensation in her chest; she rarely understood the reason people trusted her so easily, but it made her all the more determined to remain worthy of that trust.

"Thanks for that," she said. "I'll go find the command tent and see what General what's-his-face—"

"Treinburg," Richter supplied helpfully.

"Right," Shepard said airily, and scanned the camp until she found a large tent with important-looking heraldry. "Ah, there it is." She made an exaggerated show of holding out her hand like a noblewoman, though the effect was ruined somewhat by her armor. "Would you escort a lady to her destination?"

"What lady? All I see is you." Richter kept his face under control for all of five seconds before he broke down laughing.

"You're an ass," Shepard said, but there was no real heat behind the words. After traveling together for almost two weeks, Shepard and Richter, along with Richter's men, had reached an unspoken agreement to treat each other as equals unless there was fighting to be done, or a superior officer was around.

Once Richter regained his composure, the two of them led Richter's men through the camp, heading towards Treinburg's tent. They earned more than a few odd looks, though that was mostly just Shepard; she wasn't wearing her helmet, and it was obvious that she was a woman. Still, from the way Richter and his men deferred to her, the other soldiers were mostly curious and confused, rather than outright hostile.

Richter's men waited outside the tent, while Shepard and Richter entered. Once inside, they saw an aging man, his features lined and his hair grey, wearing polished armor looking over a map that lay on a table. Shepard was aware that many Imperial commanders liked to take plenty of expensive and impractical odds and ends with them on campaign, but aside from a few gold-chased goblets in the corner and the quality table, Treinburg was being surprisingly practical.

Shepard immediately liked the man.

For a few moments, neither party said anything. At first, Shepard thought the General was ignoring them, but then she saw his weathered eyes flickering over the map. He was doing his job, and was focused on that over niceties. Shepard still hadn't shared a single word with the man, and yet her opinion of him still rose.

Finally, the General straightened up, the only sign of his age a whisper of a groan. When he laid eyes on the new arrivals, he only tilted his head.

"You must be Alexia Shepard," he said in a tired voice that didn't hide the core of iron behind it.

Shepard saluted, half a second before Richter did. "Sir, Captain Alexia Shepard, reporting for duty!"

"Sir, Sergeant Hermann Richter, reporting for duty!"

 _His first name is Hermann?_ Shepard thought. _Huh. He never introduced himself by his first name before. Weird._

Treinburg saluted back. "At ease." He waited for the two of them to assume more relaxed stances. "Sergeant, I appreciate you reporting in to me, but you may return to your men. There is a small tent next to this one; a quartermaster there will have you settled soon enough."

Richter saluted again, then left.

"Captain Shepard…" Treinburg stroked his greying mustache as he looked her over; thankfully, it seemed he was just assessing her, rather than undressing her with his eyes. "I heard about your part in the battle at Helmgart. Impressive work, I must say."

"Thank you, sir. If I may ask a question?" At Treinburg's nod, Shepard continued. "What is my role here? I know that you're in overall command, but I'm not sure how I fit in."

"Aside from taking over if the worst should happen to me?" Treinburg asked in morbid humor. "Your main task will be leading men and fulfilling tasks I give you. You will also provide tactical insight and advice before battle. Outside of battle, help keep the men in line, organize training exercises, and so on."

Shepard nodded; it seemed simple enough, save for one thing. "Keeping the men in line might be a challenge right now, sir."

Treinburg sighed gustily. "I'm aware of that, Captain. Having a mobile army made up of men from all provinces sounds good in theory, but it is far more difficult in reality. Many people in one province will never meet someone from another. Some provinces use tactics and weapons that are abhorrent to others. Because of feuds stretching back generations, some provinces outright hate each other. You see the challenge we face?"

Shepard tried not to grimace; suddenly things didn't seem so simple. "Can we at least get the men talking? I noticed that they barely even looked at each other."

"That would be a good step," Treinburg said. "Normally, I would have our men train alongside each other for several weeks, and that would hopefully smooth things over. However, I do not believe we have such time."

"Has something happened, sir?"

Treinburg gestured to the map. "See for yourself.

"There have been a dozen attacks along the coast, all carried out by the undead," he said, pointing to several tokens on the map. "Our forces there are stretched thin trying to contain these attacks. Tell me, what do you see?"

Shepard realized she was being tested; support from the Reiksmarshal and the Emperor himself was all well and good, but if she wasn't actually worth it, Treinburg would probably stick her in a clerical role for the foreseeable future.

For a minute, Shepard eyed the map, taking note of the last known positions of both undead and Imperial forces. It didn't take her long to see the problem.

"There's a gap in our defenses," she said, pointing at a spot almost in the middle of the attacks. "There are hardly any troops stationed in this area; if another force hits there, they'll have a straight shot at Middenheim."

"Exactly." Treinburg's approval was gruff, but it was there. "I believe that these undead attacks are a diversion. Whatever the enemy's real objective is, our army is the only force in a position to do anything about it."

"Wouldn't it be a good idea to let the Reiksmarshal know about this?" Shepard asked. "This kind of situation is something he's good at."

Treinburg sighed. "Would that he could, but with tensions still around the border with Bretonnia, he wouldn't be able to reinforce us in time. I've sent scouts ahead to see what it is that we're up against; once we know that, we can begin forming a strategy."

So that meant that Shepard would be stuck wondering what was going on for hours, or even days, until the scouts returned. Forget automatic weapons and barriers—sometimes, Shepard would give anything for simple, instant communication. Aside from getting home, that is.

"What should we do until then?" Shepard asked, eager to do something.

Treinburg looked amused. "For now, I want you to rest and get some food into you. After that, if you think you can get this sorry army from killing itself, do what you can."

Shepard thought about all the soldiers who looked like they couldn't care less about each other. "I'll do my best, sir."

…

For almost two days, Shepard discovered that creating an army was both harder and easier than running one. Harder, because each Elector Count had had to be persuaded to donate soldiers and supplies for this experimental force—save for Marius Leitdorf, who was so terribly excited about it that he also assigned a regiment of his Greatswords to the project. It was easier because all Shepard had to do was get some traction going; it fell to Treinburg to actually make things stick.

Of course, Shepard had no desire to see this army fall apart, so she put all of her energy into turning a collection of soldiers from different territories into a well-oiled machine. Or at least a machine that didn't break down after switching it on.

"And then I said 'hey, if you're going to flirt, at least don't make it look like a chore'," Shepard grinned as the two groups of Swordsmen, one from Stirland and one from Hochland, burst out laughing. This had been the third time she'd told the story of one of the late Captain Gruber's attempts to hit on her, and while she normally respected the dead, the idiocy that man had displayed was one thing many soldiers could laugh about, regardless of their homeland.

As Shepard leaned back against a stump at the edge of the camp, she took a moment to observe the men she could see. Over the last two days, she'd managed to coax soldiers from different provinces into sharing meals, patrols, and the occasional storytelling session. She hadn't managed to get everyone to meet everyone else, but she was certain that every man at least knew the name of someone from another province. In her opinion, that was enough to start breaking down barriers.

Speaking of barriers, most of the soldiers seemed to be all right with Shepard being a woman, though she had had to demonstrate that she could hold her own in a fight. There were some bruised egos, as well as bodies, but Shepard quickly earned the respect of anyone she spent more than a few minutes with. The real test would be if they would follow her orders in battle, but it was still progress.

Of course, not everything was smooth sailing. Two fights had broken out between some Spearmen from Ostermark and some Reikland Handgunners; thankfully, Shepard and Richter had broken it up before anyone got more than bruises. After the second fight, those units had been moved to opposite ends of the camp until, as Shepard put it, 'They would stop acting like children'.

Another problem was that of equipment. Some provinces used different styles of armor or other gear that couldn't just be swapped for any replacement, and it hadn't been something anyone had considered when creating this army. Shepard had suggested, both to Treinburg and in a letter to Kurt Helborg, that the army be assigned a permanent base of operations, one that could supply the entire force with the same style of equipment. Treinburg had approved, and though Helborg had yet to reply to the letter, Shepard was reasonably sure that the Reiksmarshal would feel the same.

All of the logistical issues were of secondary importance, at least until this unknown threat was dealt with. They could worry about supplies after they didn't have an enemy punching its way through the Empire.

And that was one thing that had Shepard more worried than she cared to admit. She had read about the various monsters and other evils that existed in this world, but she had yet to actually face them. Her encounter with the Vampires had been brief, and although fighting the Bretonnians had been a novel experience, they had still been Human. Going up against things like Orcs on a large scale was something she had no practical experience with.

Her inexperience with the dangers of this world was one more thing that she kept a secret. There were some high-ranked officers—like Treinburg or Helborg—who knew her rank had been given, not earned. Those officers who got their rank through privilege didn't get the respect of their soldiers. Shepard might not have bought into the whole 'destiny' thing Karl Franz had told her about, but she assumed that that counted as a privilege.

Rather than worry herself sick about it, Shepard resolved to overcome each challenge. It would be belated, but she _would_ earn her rank.

"Captain!" Shepard looked up to see Richter running towards her, his mouth set in a grim line. "The scouts just came back, and General Treinburg wants to see you immediately."

In a flash, Shepard's smile vanished and she walked purposely to the General's tent. In her mind, she was already calculating how long it would take to get back to her own tent and get her armor and weapon.

"You asked to see me, sir?" Shepard asked as she entered the tent, and saw that they had company.

"Yes, and now that we're all here, we can begin this meeting." Treinburg raised an eyebrow at her in mild reproach, but she felt it was undeserved; after all, she was the only officer who spent time away from the officers' tents.

While Treinburg was in overall command and Shepard's authority was only surpassed by his, there were two others who would be considered leaders. Father Michael Lichtseele—a name Shepard suspected was more of a title than a birth name—was a young Warrior Priest, but he was fiery in his sermons, and though his body was concealed by armor and robes, the way he lifted his large two-handed hammer suggested incredible strength.

Physically, he reminded Shepard of Heinkel, with a large frame and shaven scalp, but he had a short goatee that bothered Shepard for some reason. There was one other difference she'd noticed between Michael and Heinkel: while the long-dead man she'd briefly known had been kind to all but his enemies, Michael was a zealot and a taskmaster, demanding all he met to be on the same level of faith as him.

That faith was the only major point of contention he and Shepard had, but it was still a problem. They both agreed on protecting the Empire, but while Shepard did so out of a natural protective instinct, Michael wanted to wipe out all of the Empire's enemies in the name of Sigmar. Shepard had grown up in an era where religion was mostly looked down upon. Ashley had always been a believer, but the God she prayed to was nothing like Sigmar. The strange thing, however, was that there were plenty of historical references to the first Emperor, and it was clearly stated that he had been a mortal man. Only once he disappeared was he declared a god in his own right. From the records she'd read, Shepard had no doubt that Sigmar had been an inspirational leader and powerful warrior, but being worshiped as a god…

 _Then again,_ she thought with some horror, _after what happened with the Reapers, people back home might start doing the same for me. Great, like that statue of me on Elysium was bad enough._

Michael nodded at her, barely polite enough to acknowledge her presence. Shepard nodded back, if only because the man gave that much effort. Anything more, however, was cut off when someone jumped in front of Shepard, his face inches from hers.

"Ah, so you must be Captain Shepard!" The man, probably a few years younger than Shepard, swept a helmet topped with an enormous red feather from his head and bowed. "Lieutenant Elias Locke, at your service."

Shepard's first instinct was to roll her eyes. The young man might have been enthusiastic, but years of dodging admirers gave her the uncanny ability to recognize when someone had a crush on her, and Locke was definitely smitten.

While young for his position, Elias Locke was supposedly incredibly good at his job, and had earned it on his own merit. Because he had been scouting ahead, Shepard hadn't met him until now, but she'd heard stories. The youngest son of a minor noble house from Averland, Locke had tried to become a knight, but had to join the Empire's Pistolkorps first. He had proven himself so adept in that post that, to his family's dismay, he decided to stay on as leader of his own regiment of light cavalry, rather than join a proper knightly order.

Despite herself, Shepard did admit that Locke cut a dashing figure; a handsome face, slender-yet-athletic build, and a glint in his eyes that suggested he was usually in a good mood. Unlike most Imperial officers she'd met, Locke eschewed a mustache, preferring to keep his face bare.

 _If only he wasn't so involved with horses,_ Shepard thought, hiding a smirk. _Then I might even be interested._

"Nice to meet you, Lieutenant," she said out loud. "We'll have to chat later; I think we have work to do."

"Ah, of course, Captain." Locke saluted, and his grin faded to a smirk as he turned to Treinburg. "I have news about the threat we face."

Now that Locke was no longer in her face, Shepard saw that his light armor and the uniform underneath were scuffed and scratched. He had to have been riding through difficult terrain, yet didn't seem upset.

"I need specifics, Lieutenant," Treinburg said. "Numbers, types of undead, and who leads them."

Locke's smile now completely faded as he shook his head. "The undead may be opening this passage, but it's not for another army of their ilk. The Empire is being invaded by Chaos, sir."

Treinburg hissed, while Michael snarled, even as he made warding signs.

For Shepard, Chaos was a subject that had been frustratingly vague, but apparently for a good reason. What she did know was that the worship of Chaos was one of the few religions to be totally banned in the Empire, and cults were ruthlessly hunted down and purged. The barbarians to the north worshiped a pantheon of four gods, and they would do battle to win the favor of one or more of them.

Though it wasn't explained how, Shepard had read that the powers of Chaos caused mutation in all it touched, and drove men to madness. Once you let Chaos in, you became its pawn. It reminded Shepard of the indoctrination used by the Reapers.

In military terms, warriors who served Chaos were Human, but would often have incredible and terrible power, and would fight without any kind of moral restraint. She hadn't even fought them yet, and she hated them. In her mind, soldiers needed some kind of limit on what they did; at the very least, they should leave civilians alone, but followers of Chaos tended to leave few survivors.

"I'll send messengers to update them on the situation," Treinburg said gravely. "For now, tell me what you saw of the enemy, Lieutenant."

Locke nodded. "They were a plagued host, sir; I spied them from half a league away, but I smelled them long before that. There are at least five-score who seem almost normal; they bore no armor and held swords and axes. Beyond them, I saw many who were far too tall and fat, with rusty armor and weapons no normal man could wield, but I cannot say how many there were."

"Did you see their leader?" Treinburg asked, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "If we kill him, the rest may flee or fall apart trying to take his place."

"I believe I saw the leader," Locke said, paling at the memory. "He was huge, nearly twice the size of a man. He carried a giant axe and was surrounded by a swarm of insects."

Treinburg scowled at the map, where Locke had placed several tokens, representing the Chaos host. It didn't take Shepard long to realize why he was so upset.

"If they're there already," she said, then traced a line behind their path, "they've gone through two villages."

"And even if they left any survivors, it would be a mercy to kill them quickly," Michael said grimly. "To suffer the pestilences of Chaos is a fate worse than death."

"For now, our objective remains," Treinburg said. "We must halt this Chaos incursion before their disease spreads. We can intercept them outside Middenheim." He tapped the major city on the map for emphasis.

"Can we expect reinforcements from there?" Shepard asked.

Treinburg sighed. "Doubtful. Their state troops and the Knights of the White Wolf are mostly spread out, trying to contain the undead. We're the only force close enough to do anything about the Chaos dogs. Captain Shepard!"

Shepard stood up straight. "Sir!"

"Get the men ready to march. I want us at Middenheim before the day ends. Speed is paramount, so if we cannot take something with us, leave it behind. Lieutenant Locke!"

"Yes, General?" Locke said, his grin back in full force.

"You and your cavalry have one hour to resupply yourselves and your mounts. Organize the camp followers to clean up what we leave behind. And Father Lichtseele?"

"How may I be of service, General?" Michael might have seemed serene, but there was a grim fire in his eyes.

"Once the men realize the threat they'll be facing, their spirits will need bolstering." Treinburg looked back down at the map, glaring that the tokens that represented Chaos. "I trust you will handle that task?"

"Do not worry," Michael said. "In Sigmar's name, this army will crush these abominations!"

"Good." Treinburg glanced up at them. "What are you waiting for? Get going!"

Shepard walked swiftly out of the tent, barking orders even as she went to get her equipment. All her doubts fell away as she prepared herself for battle. There was an enemy to be fought and troops to lead; beyond that, even getting back home wasn't important.

In a few minutes, Shepard stepped out of her tent, her armor shining in the morning light, shield on her back, hammer at her side, and her helmet held under her arm.

"Captain!" Richter, also ready with his halberd. "I've heard we're heading out. Where are we going?"

Shepard smiled, but there was no humor in it. "Where else? We're going to war."

…

It said something about Henrietta von Carstein's mindset that she found killing ordinary people a chore. As she stepped over the drained corpse of a woman—who just would not stop screaming, not until the last of her blood had been taken—she eyed the ruined, nameless hovel of a village with distaste. If these diversionary attacks weren't necessary for her revenge, she wouldn't have considered this speck on the map worth destroying.

She was pulled from her thoughts when one of her mortal servants hurried up to her.

"My Lady," the quivering Necromancer said with a low bow, "we have salvaged all that we could from this village. If we wish to stay ahead of the Imperial army, we must leave."

Henrietta scowled, not deigning to even look at the man. "There will be no retreat."

"M-my Lady?"

"We have achieved our objective," Henrietta said slowly, as if explaining to a child. "We have the Empire's attention. Now we must hold it long enough for our 'friends' to do their part."

"What about after that?"

Finally, Henrietta faced the sniveling mortal. "That is not something you need concern yourself with, little man. Now go muster my army to face the Imperials."

The Necromancer bowed again and scurried off; had he stayed, or had the courage to look Henrietta in the eye, he would have seen the uncaring disdain on her face. The Vampire didn't care one bit about her servants, living or dead, nor did she care about the inhabitants of the tiny village she'd murdered and were now being reanimated. All she cared about was getting revenge, and if her estimates were right, Malarius' army would be running into Shepard by tomorrow.

And despite her words to her servant, she had no intention of holding the Imperials back. Her army would fight, certainly, and the number of Necromancers—though weak—would ensure her troops remained standing for at least a while. She didn't care, though; tonight, she would ride out towards Middenheim and find a suitable spot from which she could watch the hated mortal's death.

Even if Shepard somehow survived her encounter, Henrietta had the perfect way to further torment the woman. It had been painful to return to the ruins of Wolfshead, but it had been worth it to find her prize. From around her neck, she pulled a tarnished, partially melted silver chain with a pair of metal tags attached. One tag had an emblem she didn't recognize, but she was able to figure out the name on the other tag:

Alexia Shepard.

 **And that's it for now! I know that there wasn't much in the way of action, but I had to let Shepard at least sort of get to know the troops. And yes, anyone who was actually named is important. Remember that. Anyone else is basically a redshirt.**

 **Oh, and for those who don't know German, Lichtseele translates as 'Lightsoul'. It seemed fitting for a priest. Or a Warcraft character. Hey, Warrior Priests are basically Paladins, minus the healing.**

 **I have to say, writing the actions and attitudes of Chaos is fun, and also a little disturbing. I can only imagine how Shepard would feel… wait, I'm the author. I already know.**

 **Next Chapter: Shepard races alongside her comrades, hoping to intercept the forces of Chaos in time. Even if they succeed, can mere mortals stop the servants of Nurgle?**

 **A world of Chaos. A time of heroes. An age of Muffins.**


	6. Resolve, Part 2

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. KEEP A BUCKET HANDY FOR THIS ONE. YOU MIGHT NEED IT.**

 **Now that the introductions are out of the way, it's time to get to the gritty stuff. An early warning: this is why I rated this story M.**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 6

Resolve, Part 2

" _People think that I'm a calm person, that I'm easygoing and don't let things faze me. They're wrong. I remember each soldier that I ordered to their death, every civilian I couldn't save, and every friend I had to leave behind. I used to blame myself. It wasn't until Middenheim that I started blaming the sons of bitches I fought against."—General Alexia Shepard_

…

Shepard grimaced as one of Locke's Pistoliers rode past her, a glob of mud splattering against her leg. Other than that, she didn't react; it wasn't the first time her once-pristine armor had been dirtied in the mad rush to Middenheim, and it probably wouldn't be the last. All she really cared about was that the mud didn't hamper her movements, and she could solve that with the rag she kept on her belt.

"We should be nearing Middenheim within the hour," Treinburg said as his horse trotted next to Shepard. "As soon as we get out of these accursed trees, we'll be able to see it."

Shepard nodded, even as she tried not to unconsciously shy away from Treinburg's horse. Since his mount allowed him greater mobility than his aging body normally allowed, Treinburg was going back and forth from the front of the army to the back, where Shepard was stationed. The horse seemed to be the only concession Treinburg made to accommodate for his age, though he insisted he would fight on his own two feet, 'Just as Sigmar did, damn it'.

Actually, it bothered Shepard that she was the only senior officer in the army who _didn't_ ride a horse. Not because it made her feel inferior, but because every time one of them rode up to her on the muddy road, some of said mud splattered her. At least Locke apologized for it.

So Shepard was left in the rear, with the two Great Cannons the army had available, as well as Richter's regiment of Halberdiers, who volunteered to accompany her until they arrived. Everyone else was stretched along a poorly maintained dirt road, which was rapidly turning to mud thanks to a short rainfall. The only good thing about the situation was that their powder hadn't been ruined by the water.

"General! Captain!" Locke shouted as he rode up to them, slowing down far enough away that mud didn't hit Shepard. "We've spotted the edge of the forest, and Middenheim is now in view."

"What is the status of the city?" Treinburg asked, while Shepard hoped that they weren't too late.

Locke smiled. "It appears unharmed, sir. The rain we felt earlier was the last gasp of a coastal storm, but if the enemy is coming southward, than they might have been hit by something worse. We may have time to prepare."

Shepard sighed in relief, though her helmet hid it. "General, maybe Lieutenant Locke should ride ahead," she suggested. "He and his men can warn the city before we arrive, and they can set up some defenses. At the very least, they can ready some supplies for us—blankets, hot food, and so on."

Treinburg nodded. "An excellent idea, Captain. You heard her, Lieutenant!"

Locke saluted, first to Treinburg, and then to Shepard, though he gave her an added wink. "Of course, General!"

A few shouted orders later had Locke and his riders galloping down the road. Treinburg soon rode away as well, intent on being the first of the main army to leave the forest. Beside her, Richter chuckled.

"It's nice to see things go our way for once," he said.

"What are you talking about?" Shepard asked. "The fight against the Bretonnians went well."

Richter's helmet didn't have a faceguard, so Shepard saw the full force of his utterly unimpressed gaze. "You mean, aside from the Bretonnian lord who almost ran us over, and the fact that Gruber abandoned us?"

"Well, yeah, other than that." Shepard turned her head away and grumbled, "That's what I get for trying to be positive." Then she changed the subject. "So, Richter, you ever fight Chaos before?"

Richter paused in his march for half a beat, but Shepard caught it. "Never in battle, but I saw a Witch Hunter purge a cult once. He executed the cultists and burned the sorcerer who led them at the stake."

"Couldn't he have just shot him?" Shepard asked, her stomach turning at the barbarity the Empire displayed.

Richter shrugged. "Yes, but that wasn't the point. The point was to show the town what fate had in store for those who worshiped Chaos."

"Did it work?"

"I never went back to that town," Richter admitted, "but I heard that they put up three shrines to Sigmar and one to Ulric a year later."

"So, yes." As much as the idea of ruling through fear horrified Shepard, she had to admit that it got results. She would never approve, but she could understand why someone did it. She just didn't like it.

"Anyway, like I said, I never fought them in battle," Richter said. "I know that they won't stop fighting until they die, and that it's better to kill yourself than be captured by them." He looked away for a moment. "Especially you, Captain. The northern bastards will take women."

Shepard did _not_ like the way he said 'take'. "Thanks for the warning."

…

Middenheim was impressive, to say the least. To Shepard, Altdorf was this world's equivalent to a metropolis, but Middenheim took the idea of a medieval castle-town and pumped it up to an extreme. A massive fortress sat on top of a mountain, and the only entrances to the city itself were several stone walkways that connected to drawbridges. It was easy to see that, if the city was attacked, all the inhabitants had to do was close the drawbridges and the enemy would be stuck on a big ramp.

"Why did we need to come here again?" Shepard asked. Unless the Chaos forces had siege weapons—and if they were raiders, it was unlikely—all Middenheim had to do was sit tight until the Knights of the White Wolf returned.

"We face the worshipers of the Plague God," Treinburg said grimly as he got off his horse. "In a city that large, disease can be as devastating as any normal weapon."

With that in mind, Shepard's opinion on the importance of this battle took a new direction. Disease was never something that she thought of much; aside from that plague on Omega, most forms of disease back home were easily treated, to the point of almost being a non-issue. Here, though, disease was a very real threat that existed every day; a disease empowered by an evil god just made things worse.

The army marched to the base of one of the stone walkways, where Locke and his riders were waiting, along with a small crowd of people.

"General, I bring word from Ar Ulric Emil Valgeir," Locke said with his usual cheer. "Signal fires have been lit, and the Knights of the White Wolf will come soon, along with any other nearby Imperial forces. For now, our army will be given as many supplies as we need, and some of the city guard will join us on the field."

Shepard felt like slapping herself. Of course the Empire would do as much as possible to defend Middenheim—Emil Valgeir wasn't just the leader of the Cult of Ulric, and arguably one of the most important religious leaders of the Empire, he was one of the Electors. Only the Elector Counts—and that was debatable—and the Emperor himself had more authority than the Ar Ulric.

"How many men?" Treinburg asked.

"They are still mustering, and many are torn between their desire to help us and their oath to defend the city proper," Locke admitted. "However, I would say about a hundred."

"It is better than nothing," Treinburg said, then looked around the area. "We will make our stand here. Captain Shepard, organize parties of men and any volunteers from the city to erect earthworks for our cannons and ranged units. Lieutenant Locke, organize a patrol. Father Lichtseele, please maintain the morale of the men… and try not to get into a fight with anyone from the city, if you would."

Shepard was already deciding on where to set up their fortifications and was on her way to inspect a nearby small hill when Michael fell in step with her.

"Is something wrong?" Shepard asked him.

The Warrior Priest looked uncomfortable. "I do not… dislike worshipers of Ulric. After all, Sigmar Himself prayed to the White Wolf, but…"

"They're not part of your church," Shepard finished, and the man nodded. "Look at it this way: we're all fighting the same evil, and if we don't work together, it won't matter who we worship, because we'll all be dead either way."

Michael gave her an inscrutable look. "Pragmatism serves you well, Captain."

"Uh… thanks?" Shepard wanted to ask what he meant by that statement, but Michael was already moving away to speak with a regiment of Swordsmen. "Whatever…" She looked back to the hill. "Let's see, if we aim the cannons about eighteen degrees higher…"

…

Hours later, after setting up shifts to patrol the outskirts of the camp, the army was finally allowed to rest. The people of Middenheim had been more than willing to offer food and supplies, and despite their fatigue and the coming battle, the soldiers were enjoying hot food next to roaring fires.

Shepard was unsure whether she liked the local food or not. It tasted good, though it was a bit heavy on the salt, and it was tough and hard to chew. She remembered an old saying that you could tell a lot about people by the food they ate; considering the northern territories bore the brunt of Chaos incursions, she supposed it made sense.

"Ah, Captain, there you are," Richter said as he sat next to her. "Thought you might enjoy some company."

"You mean company that won't flirt with me every five seconds?" Shepard asked, trying not to laugh at the thought of Locke's antics.

"Is that why you're eating alone?" Richter asked back. "Trying to avoid him?"

Shepard's smile took on a slightly evil edge. "He's on patrol right now."

It took Richter a moment, and then his smile matched hers. "And I'm sure you had _nothing_ to do with the patrol schedules."

"I refuse to answer, on the grounds that I may incriminate myself."

The two chuckled, then resumed eating in comfortable silence. Only once they were done did Richter speak again.

"Captain, can I ask you a question?"

Shepard was in the middle of taking a swig from her waterskin. "Hmm?"

"I saw you talking to some of the men earlier," Richter began, "assuring them about the battle and such. But how are _you_ feeling about all this?"

Shepard swallowed, but was silent for a long moment. She was unused to people asking how _she_ was doing; usually it was the other way around. Aside from a few times during the Reaper War, she was the one looking out for others, and she was used to putting on a brave face so often that she almost lied.

Finally, she just shrugged. "I've been fighting for a very long time. There isn't a whole lot I know how to do _but_ fight, and almost everything else revolves around fighting. I may never have fought Chaos before, but I know war." She smirked. "I know the dance, just not the dance floor."

Richter raised an eyebrow at her. "Somehow I don't see you dancing, Captain."

 _Dammit, I knew I shouldn't have used that metaphor,_ Shepard thought. _My dancing is not that terrible! Okay, so maybe it is, but still!_

"My point stands," she said with a scowl.

"Fair enough," Richter said. "I've fought enough times to know my limits. Still… I don't know, I just have a bad feeling. My scars always itch when something bad is going to happen."

"Trust the scars," Shepard said sagely, "they never lie."

"And you're fine with my men and I fighting alongside you tomorrow?" Richter asked.

"Unless you've got a damn good reason for me to change my mind, my decision stands," Shepard said.

All of the senior officers were fighting alongside a chosen regiment. Treinburg was accompanied by the Averland Greatswords, who had pledged to follow him into oblivion, if he asked. Locke had several regiments of riders, but he rode with a unit of grizzled Outriders, and though they were more experienced than him, they were completely devoted to the young noble. Michael had found a particularly pious group of Swordsmen from Reikland who followed him everywhere. For her part, Shepard had decided to join up with Richter's Halberdiers; they had fought together during the battle at Helmgart, and Shepard saw no reason to change that.

Richter smiled. "Then my men and I will be proud to fight with you, Captain. Just don't be upset when I get more kills than you."

Shepard blinked. "Wha—okay, now it's on. No one beats me in a kill-count, buster. Prepare to get your ass kicked."

Both of them nearly jumped out of their skin when Locke suddenly appeared before them. "Oh, Sergeant Richter, have you done something to offend our dear Captain? Distressing such beauty is grounds for a duel, good sir."

It was clear from his tone that Locke was joking, but Shepard still felt the need to explain a few things. "Oh, Richter and I were just arguing over who would get the most kills tomorrow. He seems to believe that he's going to win this little challenge." She frowned. "Weren't you supposed to be on patrol?"

"My shift ended a few minutes ago," Locke explained. "And do you mind if I get in on this little wager? Whoever gets the most kills gets a prize, I hope?"

"Mostly bragging rights," Shepard said, "and only until the next fight."

Locke had just settled down with a bowl of stew, but he stood up and held his spoon high, brandishing it like a sword. "Then I shall claim the glory that awaits!"

"That would have been much more impressive if you hadn't just dripped food on your head," Shepard said dryly.

Locke glanced up, just in time for a drop of broth to land on his nose. Shepard couldn't help but laugh, and soon the two men joined in.

A terrible battle was on the horizon, and they all knew it. Still, they took what joy they could when they had the chance.

…

The next morning was chilly, but thankfully there was no fog or any risk to the Imperials' supply of powder. The main army was arrayed in organized ranks, with the cannons and Handgunners positioned on the hill, while the Swordsmen stood just behind Spearmen and Halberdiers, ready to counter any charge that was stopped by their comrades. The Middenheim soldiers had been spread along the flanks, their keen eyes peeled for sudden threats.

Shepard was at the front of the army, near the right flank, ready to meet the initial charge and show the men that one of their leaders was just as willing to be on the front lines as they were. Michael was in the second rank on the left side, ready to bolster the soldiers' strength with both faith and a strong arm. Locke and his cavalry were hidden by several small rises, ready to ambush the approaching enemy with a storm of bullets. Treinburg was in the center of the army, along with the Greatswords, allowing him to easily react to changes in the battlefield, as well as personally reinforce anywhere that was in danger.

To Shepard, their position was fairly secure; they had elevation for their guns, defensive formations, and reinforcements were sure to be on their way. Still, it didn't shake the unsettling feeling in her stomach. She was still fighting an unknown enemy, and she hated fighting the unknown.

Then the wind changed, and Shepard forgot all about the battle as she tried not to throw up. The scent that blew towards them was worse than anything she'd encountered before. Rotting meat, bile, excrement—Shepard had faced those smells before, but this seemed ten times more potent. More than one man along the line vomited.

Grimacing, Shepard put her helmet on to block out the smell. She was in such a hurry that she almost forgot to tuck in her braid—after butchering her hair months ago, it had grown out enough for her to braid again—under her helmet. It didn't do too much, but the scent of metal and her own sweat was preferable to whatever was causing that stench.

"Here they come," Richter said grimly, nodding at the forest's edge.

Shepard tightened her grip on her hammer as dozens, then hundreds, of figures staggered out of the tree line. They were all on foot, so they didn't have to worry about cavalry—which pleased Shepard immensely—but there was far more heavy infantry than she liked. Only a thin line of warriors, no more than two hundred, actually seemed Human. They wore ragged clothing, though many were bare-chested, and carried rusty swords and axes. Their skin was waxy and pale, as if they were in the grip of a fever.

It was those behind the first wave that had Shepard worried. Those warriors were huge, each easily a head taller than the average man. They wore thick plated armor that looked strong despite the rust, and many carried huge shields to accompany wicked-looking swords and axes. Those behind them bore huge halberds, or other two-handed weapons that looked like they could cut a man in half without much difficulty.

These larger troops were what really grabbed Shepard's attention. They were organized in loose formations around fly-shaped banners that made her stomach turn just by looking at them, and each warrior was… well, there was no other way to describe them than as freaks. Horns sprouted _through_ armor, faces had too many eyes—and even if there were just two eyes, they were malformed and disturbing—while rolls of fat squeezed through gaps in armor. More than a few had tentacles or other mutated appendages replacing an arm or leg, and intestines dragged along the ground or were cradled as their owners walked. No two warriors looked the same, and it was difficult to tell who was grouped with whom until the army of monsters spread out.

And they really were monsters, Shepard realized. There was a pervading sense of wrongness coming from the Chaos warband, and it had nothing to do with pre-battle jitters. It was as if she was looking at an error of life itself, and the only way to end the sensation was to destroy the source.

"I see the leader," Richter said, his voice muffled from a rag he was using to cover his nose. "He's an ugly one."

It wasn't hard to spot the enemy leader—he was easily a head taller than any of the others, and the armor he wore, bonded to rolls of fat, looked like an insect's carapace, and what wasn't rusty dripped with putrid oils. His axe leaned against his shoulder, and though the wooden handle was rotting and the blade was rusty, Shepard had no desire to test her armor against it.

The Chaos force was still a fair distance away, but the Imperial soldiers were already shifting nervously. Shepard wasn't one to preach glory or a crusade against another religion, but she could preach common sense.

"Steady, men!" She called, making a show of crossing her arms. "We have all the advantages: the enemy has no cover, and our guns have a clear shot. We're organized, they're a mob, and we're prepared."

"Captain Shepard is right!" Michael roared, holding his hammer high. "Sigmar has graced us with good fortune and a righteous cause! Let us strike down these mongrels! For Sigmar!"

"For the Empire!" Shepard added.

Richter drove the butt of his halberd into the ground with a muffled thud; he was soon joined by the rest of his men, followed by the many Spearmen and Halberdiers across the army. The Swordsmen clashed their blades against their shields. Behind them, the Handgunners and the cannon crews let out a cheer. The fear the army once had was pushed aside by sense, bravado, and sheer adrenaline, but whether it would last once the battle actually started was what really mattered.

"Ready yourselves!" Treinburg shouted, waving his silver blade over his head. "Prepare for battle!"

Disciplined ranks of Spearmen braced themselves for a coming charge, while the Halberdiers and Swordsmen stood ready at their flanks. The Handgunners checked their powder and shot one final time, while the cannons were sighted again.

Shepard looked out over the enemy army, her eyes narrowed. _We're ready. Bring it on._

…

Lord Malarius' booming laughter echoed in the ears of all his warriors. He had hoped for a good fight, a worthy challenge that would earn him prestige, and here was an army that outnumbered his almost twice over.

"Grandfather Nurgle blesses us!" he laughed, and many of his most loyal followers joined him. "The southern weaklings are in one place, and when we crush their pathetic soldiers, a city awaits our affections!"

"My Lord, the Imperials have many guns. Can we break through and still be able to take the city?"

Malarius' face might have been concealed, but his champion still felt the full force of his glare. Boris Pusblade was almost as large as his master, and his ambition of replacing Malarius was no secret. While Malarius would have loved to replace his champion, Pusblade was powerful enough to keep his position. Unlike many of those who felt Nurgle's blessing, Pusblade's body was thin, and would have looked pathetic if not for his thick armor. That armor was a sickly brownish-green, the color of a bruise, and was dotted with small holes that, if one listened closely, echoed with an eerie buzzing.

"Do you doubt my power?" Malarius hissed, and the bile that dripped down his throat bubbled angrily. "Do you doubt _Nurgle's_ power?"

Pusblade quickly shook his head—an emaciated skull with papery skin and a few sickly strands of hair—and backed off. "Of course not, my Lord, I was merely taking precautions!"

And as ambitious as Pusblade was, Malarius was unconcerned with him trying to take his position because the champion was scared of his master. He just needed to reinforce his authority over the younger warrior every now and then.

"The Imperial dogs have many guns, it is true," Malarius continued, "but they cannot kill what they cannot see."

Chanting words that should not have been possible for Human mouths to form, Malarius pulled a rotted heart from within a sack at his side. At the end of his incantation, the heart dissolved, eaten away by a pile of maggots from the inside. Once the last maggot fell from Malarius' bloated hand, a cloud of green gas began pouring from the ground, expanding to cover the entire army. The grass, insects, and any small animals that were touched by the cloud died instantly, and anything hardier, like a grown Human, would have been violently ill.

As the cloud engulfed Malarius' army, however, the children of Nurgle only felt a feeling of strength and power as their god's blessing covered them. With a joyous cry, the plagued host began marching forward.

Malarius chuckled as he and his chosen warriors joined in the advance. The spell he'd cast would only last a few minutes, at best—had he more time to prepare the ceremony properly and had a more substantial sacrifice, it would have lasted longer—but it would confound and terrify the southern cowards, protecting the warriors of Chaos from their guns, at least for a volley or two.

And then the true battle would commence.

…

"What the hell?" Shepard wasn't sure what the Chaos army was going to do, but she sure hadn't expected a green cloud to show up from nowhere and cover their advance.

"Foul sorcery," Richter spat. "I knew this wouldn't be easy."

"That doesn't mean they aren't there," Shepard said. "We'll just fire blind until we can get a clear shot; I'll take killing a few by accident over not shooting at all."

She signaled Richter's regiment's banner bearer to perform the necessary movements, telling Treinburg what she intended. A minute later, the regiments of Handgunners fired volleys into the cloud. They might not have been able to see what they were shooting at, but any warrior they killed was one less that could attack them. The Great Cannons, however, held their fire; they would shoot once they had a clear shot, hopefully when the Chaos army was close enough so that they could inflict maximum casualties.

Though the cloud still unnerved the Imperials, the words of their leaders still rang in their ears, and they stood their ground. Glancing behind her, Shepard saw Treinburg's banner wave in Locke's direction to give the cavalry new orders: once the cloud parted, Locke would move out and attack the enemy's rear. In the best-case scenario, the Chaos army would be thrown into disarray before the main Imperial force was hit. At the very least, some of enemy warriors would be killed by the attack, easing pressure on the main force.

All of that, however, depended on whether or not the strange cloud _would_ fade. Shepard was reasonably sure that it would. During her time in Altdorf, she had studied what she could of magic, and had had some things explained by Parral. Generally speaking, any spell cast by a Wizard only lasted for a short while, and those that didn't either needed immense concentration or some magical artifact fueling the effect. It was possible that they were dealing with a powerful sorcerer, but Shepard was willing to bet that if the cloud didn't fade on its own, they were dealing with some arcane doodad.

If the Handgunners hit anything, Shepard couldn't tell, but the enemy army was still several hundred yards away. Still, the soldiers continued to pour shots into the cloud; with so many Handgunners, making up nearly a quarter of the whole army, firing so many shots, the odds were good that they'd hit _something_.

Unfortunately, as the cloud started to dissipate almost fifty yards from their position, the Imperials saw that fate had not favored them. Only a score of the light infantry had been killed, and not even a dozen of the larger warriors had fallen.

However, as the Chaos army began its charge, it was clear to Shepard that they had one final shot. She only hoped that the gunners made it count.

The Great Cannons boomed, sending cannonballs careening through a group of warriors, killing many of them, and killing a few in the group behind them. The Handgunners unleashed their own fury, and since they actually had an idea on what they were aiming at, dozens of warriors were hit, but, to Shepard's surprise, fewer died than she'd hoped. She had to wonder how they were so damn tough.

Then Locke's riders made their move, and for the first time since arriving in this world, Shepard was glad to hear the sound of approaching horses. Despite the nauseating effects of the last of the cloud, Locke led his cavalry into the right flank and rear of the Chaos host, discharging pistols and repeater handguns. Dozens of warriors were scythed down and the rear of the army was thrown into confusion as some tried to turn and counter the cavalry, but the riders had already turned and moved away.

The charge was blunted, but it was still lethal.

"Brace yourselves!" Shepard yelled, bracing her knees and holding her shield in front of her.

The fodder hit the line first. A wave of screaming madmen threw themselves at the wall of spears and halberds, uncaring about the danger. Some were impaled, others were chopped down, and those that weren't hacked wildly at the Imperial soldiers. Despite the disciplined formations the Empire employed, many of their enemies killed two or more men before they died. More importantly, their defensive line had been disrupted, leaving holes in their formations.

It was into this swirling melee that the main body of the Chaos force charged. Though each one was slowed by their diseased bodies and their heavy equipment, the veteran warriors hit with the force of a mounted knight. More than one Imperial soldier was crushed by the sheer impact when the plague-warriors crashed into them.

Even before the melee started, the southerners were finding it hard to fight; the smells from before were almost unbearable, and some men fell to their knees, gasping for air and unable to defend themselves when a Chaos warrior brought a weapon to their neck.

Shepard, along with Richter's regiment, found themselves cut off from the rest of the army when two dozen of the lighter warriors crashed into them. The Reikland soldiers fought with grim determination; when one man was burying his halberd in the chest or skull of one enemy, another had his weapon raised to cover his comrade as he regained his balance.

For her part, Shepard was constantly blocking swords and axes, throwing her attackers off balance before crushing skulls and ribs with her hammer. One thing she was thankful for was that these lesser warriors didn't smell as bad as the others. They still reeked, but Shepard didn't want to pass out from the stench.

A bare-chested marauder hurled himself at her, and Shepard bent her knees and used her shield to hurl the man over her head, then spun and smashed her hammer into his neck and breaking his spine. Another man tried to skewer her with a sword, but she leaned out of the way and slammed her helmet into his face, stunning him long enough for a Halberdier to split his skull.

"Richter!" she shouted, fighting to be heard over the noise of battle. "We need to regroup with the rest of the army!"

"Trying, Captain!" Richter yelled back as he lopped a marauder's arm off.

Gritting her teeth, Shepard hurled herself into another group of warriors who were attacking her men. Each swing was carefully aimed, and each blow left its victim crippled at the very least. The surviving warriors backed off, surprised by Shepard's ferocity, giving Richter's men a chance to breathe. The regiment had been reduced to six men, including Richter himself; two of the fallen hadn't even been killed outright, but had been consumed by some fast-acting disease that coated the weapons that wounded them.

"Go!" Shepard yelled. "I'll cover you!"

Richter nodded, then waved his men back, hacking down any marauder that slipped past Shepard. Their Captain continued to fight, only taking a step after killing another enemy. However, because she was fighting while walking backwards, she didn't see the group of warriors, led by Pusblade, who were approaching from behind.

"Damn," Richter snarled, then leveled his halberd. "We're not letting the Captain die, men! Charge!"

With a ragged cry, Richter and his men rushed ahead, barely avoiding a startled Shepard and engaged the dozen heavy warriors. It was almost certainly suicide, but defending an officer—especially one that he respected—was a duty Richter would happily die fulfilling.

To his grim satisfaction, the Chaos warriors were as surprised as Shepard; they had thought that the mortal men would retreat instead of counterattack, and they paid for that mistake when three of them died. Of course, they were still outnumbered, and the leader of that particular group split one of Richter's men down the middle with a single blow. Shepard avenged that man when she leaped into the air and brought her hammer smashing down on a warrior's head, crushing both helm and skull. She then immediately recoiled when the corpse's rolls of fat dissolved into bile and maggots that let off an unearthly glow.

"Face me!" Pusblade shouted, his voice coming out as a dusty rasp. "Show me your mettle, mortal!"

Shepard didn't respond verbally, only changing directions to meet the enemy champion. Her hammer lashed out, but its haft was caught by Pusblade's sword—an ugly thing that he held in both hands, with dozens of small holes along the blade—and then the champion shoved her back. When Pusblade swung his weapon, it let out a horrible noise, like a keening wail overlapped with a hacking cough. Shepard ducked the first swing, then let the second slide off her shield.

At first, Shepard thought she had the measure of her opponent, but Pusblade grinned, exposing rotted teeth, and spread his arms wide. The incessant buzzing that came from the monster of a man became almost deafening, and then a cloud of fat flies burst out from his armor. Shepard kept her shield close to her face to keep the insects from getting through her helmet, while swinging wildly with her hammer in a reflexive attempt to get rid of the flies.

Just before the flies began to surround and devour her, someone shoved her out of the cloud. Shepard watched in horror as one of Richter's men, the one she'd assured at the battle of Helmgart, flailed madly as the flies dug into his flesh and ate him from the inside out.

Shepard got back to her feet and snarled at Pusblade. "You son of a bi—oof!"

A sudden impact to her shield sent Shepard flying, and the breath was nearly driven from her when she landed on her back. Pusblade might not have been able to kill Shepard with his flies, but he still had an opening; if it wasn't for her enhanced strength, her arm would have been broken, but as it was, there was a sizeable dent in her shield.

"You are persistent." Pusblade scowled as Shepard rose to her feet. "I hate persistence."

Despite the situation, Shepard grinned. "Then I'm your worst nightmare."

Raising her hammer again, she charged. Pusblade swung his sword in a wide arc, but Shepard dropped to her knees at the last second; with the grass slick with blood, she slid the last of the distance between them and struck. There was a grainy crack as Pusblade's knee shattered, but unlike a mortal man, the champion was blessed by Nurgle and barely felt a thing. Still, even if he felt little pain, that didn't mean there was no effect, and his leg gave out beneath him.

 _Impossible!_ Pusblade thought. _I am blessed by Grandfather Nurgle! This should not have happened!_

Forcing himself to his feet and locking his knee into place, Pusblade attacked again in a desperate flurry of blows that put Shepard on the defensive again. Shepard had seen what the weapons of the plagued warriors could do to a person, and had no desire to test her shield against the rusty sword. She put just enough energy into narrowly avoiding each swing as she tried to find an opening to use.

And then she saw it. Smiling grimly, Shepard smashed her hammer against Pusblade's right wrist, crushing it; unable to fully support his weapon, Pusblade staggered, and his unarmored face was bashed in with a dented shield. Rotted teeth splintered, and a decaying nose was reduced to paste.

The last thing Pusblade saw was the gore-covered hammer arcing towards his head.

…

Henrietta scowled from her hiding spot at the edge of the forest; she had hoped that the champion would be enough to overpower the mortal woman, but she had been wrong. It was clear that Shepard was not a normal Human; she was faster, tougher, and stronger than all but the greatest mortal heroes. However, this made no sense; aside from her strange-smelling blood, there was nothing unusual about Shepard, and she had no magical items to enhance her abilities.

Not for the first time, Henrietta pulled out the tags that belonged to the woman she wanted dead. Whatever place Shepard had come from was powerful. Perhaps she needed to be more cautious in the future.

She shook her head; she could care about caution once Shepard was dead.

A gurgling laugh, one loud enough for her to hear without any problems, caught her attention. Apparently Malarius and his personal guard had intercepted some of the Imperial cavalry, and were butchering them one by one.

 _Your champion failed, Malarius,_ Henrietta thought. _I hope that you can do better._

…

General Treinburg watched the ongoing battle with narrowed eyes. Due to whatever foul magic the Chaos army had conjured, his guns and cannons had not done nearly enough damage. Even Lieutenant Locke's charge into the rear, while significant, simply wasn't enough. The main problem was that the plagued monsters wouldn't die like normal men; he saw one Chaos warrior laugh and pull the three spears from his chest before messily slaughtering the weapons' owners. Only catastrophic damage seemed to bring the heavier troops down.

As he surveyed the battlefield, he noticed that all but a handful of the marauders had been killed off. _Thank Sigmar for small miracles._

He turned to the musician within his Greatswords. "Signal the front rank to fall back, and have the rear units replace them."

The drummer nodded and beat out a quick rhythm. Within a few minutes, the front rank—mostly Spearmen and Halberdiers—began falling back, but Treinburg quickly saw that less than a quarter of the men of those units were retreating. The rest were either unable to disengage or were dead.

As much as it pained him, he had known that the front ranks would be mauled by the Chaos forces. However, they had fulfilled their duty, and the enemy's charge was blunted, while the attack from the rear had drawn off some of the more elite forces. Now it would be the Empire's turn to strike, and the ranks of Halberdiers and Swordsmen that marched forward were happy to avenge their comrades.

With those maneuvers happening, Treinburg pointed at the far left. "Signal the Handgunners and cannons to target that block of warriors; they're exposed."

A minute later, the Handgunners unleashed their fury, followed by the Great Cannons. A group of several dozen heavy infantry was almost totally obliterated by the hundreds of shots and cannonballs—

 _Wait a moment._ Treinburg frowned. _There was only one shot from the cannons. What happened?_

His question was answered a moment later when a large explosion went off behind him; one of the Great Cannons had misfired and exploded, killing the crew and setting part of the hill on fire. The crew of the other cannon panicked and began moving their artillery piece and its supply of powder away from the blaze, while a regiment of Handgunners did what they could to put the fire out.

Treinburg snarled; he had thought that his cannons would start being useful again, and then that happened.

"General!" a nearby Sergeant called out. "The enemy's rear units are coming back!"

"They must have driven back Locke's men," Treinburg said to himself, his words drowned out by the sound of war.

"That tears it," he said, then raise his sword to get the attention of his Greatswords and nearby regiments. "Follow me, men! We shall intercept the enemy, and cut the head from the beast!"

An enthusiastic roar answered him. The Greatswords were eager to put their skills to work, and the hundred or so Swordsmen that were swept up in Treinburg's advance were hungry for glory.

With over a hundred men further reinforcing the front line, it was time for the Chaos forces to feel the brunt of a charge. It wasn't as devastating as theirs had been, of course; the sheer smell alone had dozens of men falling to their knees and struggling to breathe, only to be killed by their foe or accidentally trampled by their allies. The unholy presence exuded by the enemy had more than a few soldiers running away, rather than fight. Still, plenty of strong steel hit home; it might have taken three or four Imperial soldiers to take down one Chaos warrior, but the tide was starting to turn in the Empire's favor.

Treinburg himself led one charge; the smell coming from his enemy was beyond awful, but he kept his bile down and hacked open one warrior's thick plate with a powerful swing of his sword. Around him, the Greatswords were bringing down more warriors with precise blows of their two-handed blades, and the ranks of Swordsmen and Halberdiers were pushing back the foe through sheer numbers and discipline.

Then he heard what sounded like a cross between a wet cough and a laugh. To his right, dozens of men were being slaughtered by a small group of warriors. Each was so mutated that it was hard to tell if they'd ever been Human; the one leading them was clearly the leader of this host, and had some talent for magic, if that cloud earlier was any indication.

"So, the leader of these pups is an old wolf," the Chaos Lord chuckled. "I see you still have your fangs, dull though they may be."

Treinburg didn't waste his breath on words; then again, it was hard to breathe at all. Even if Malarius had been alone, few mortals had the ability to stay in his presence for long without choking to death. With the vile guards around their lord almost as bad, it was all Treinburg could do to hold up his sword.

"Protect the General!" the leader of the Greatswords gasped out, and flung himself at Malarius. The bloated warrior calmly swung his axe; a second later, the Greatsword collapsed in several rotting pieces.

"No pawns, old wolf," Malarius said cheerfully. "I shall enjoy feeding your soul to Nurgle."

Treinburg spat out bile, then charged.

…

Shepard would have given anything for a lungful of fresh air. The best she could get, however, was the smell of sweat and the metal of her helmet; it was still preferable to the noxious fumes that came from the enemy, both living and dead. Then there was the smell of rotting flesh—that of the enemy was particularly bad—along with vomit and blood.

 _Actually, scratch fresh air,_ Shepard thought. _I just want my helmet to have filters. Even recycled air is better than this._

At least the immediate area was mostly clear. After killing the champion, Shepard and Richter had been reinforced by Michael and several regiments; between them, the remaining warriors had been crushed.

Still, Shepard felt a stab of guilt when she looked over at Richter. His regiment was down to only one other man, besides the Sergeant, and though the other soldier had only taken a small cut at the end of the fight, he was already pale and convulsing.

At first, Shepard blamed herself; she had brought Richter and his men to this army, after all. But as she looked at the warriors still fighting the Imperials, her guilt turned into rage.

 _You did this,_ she thought. _If you and your fucking gods didn't exist, my men wouldn't be dead! This is all your fault!_

Michael stepped next to her, but his focus was not on Shepard. "In Sigmar's name, no…"

Shepard followed his gaze; there, at the front of the army, the elites of both sides clashed. Monsters that only vaguely resembled people flailed madly at Swordsmen and Greatswords, who hacked desperately at grasping tentacles or rotted masses of flesh. And in the middle of it all, the Chaos leader was fighting Treinburg.

However, to call it a fight would be absurdly generous; it didn't look like the giant freak had taken a single hit, while Treinburg was on his knees. His sword had fallen to the ground, along with both his arms, which had been severed at the shoulders. Blood pumped sluggishly from the wounds, and disease was already creeping up his flesh; black mold burst from veins, while muscle, organs, and bone dissolved into paste. Even his armor rusted away to nothing, and oversized maggots devoured scraps of cloth.

The monster who killed Treinburg lifted his axe over his head. "I am victorious! Let Grandfather look upon Lord Malarius and show his favor!"

While many of the Imperials near Malarius backed away in terror, Shepard did the opposite. Gripping her hammer tightly, she charged.

 _He killed an old man,_ she thought savagely, _but let's see how he does against me!_

 **Yuck. I hated writing this. Not because it was bad or anything, but writing Nurgle-aligned stuff made me sick. Half the time, I could barely get a paragraph done before I had to go out and get some fresh air. I don't think I'll have Shepard fight plague-related enemies again after this battle. Well, maybe Skaven…**

 **As always, please send me suggestions or ideas via PM, and keep reviews polite and tasteful.**

 **Next Chapter: Shepard fights a favored son of Nurgle, but even if she wins, can the Empire save the City of the White Wolf?**

 **Daisy told me there are muffins in those woods.**


	7. Resolve, Part 3

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. VENGEANCE DOES BELONG TO ME, AS DOES THE ABILITY TO GIVE CHARACTERS A SHOT AT IT THEMSELVES.**

 **You know, now that the mostly gross stuff is out of the way, it's time for a fight. Let's see how the first Human Spectre does against a Lord of Chaos.**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 7

Resolve, Part 3

" _Some people say revenge is worth waiting for. I say screw that, find the bastard who messed with you as soon as possible and put a sharp piece of metal in him. It'll only come back to bite you if you let your enemies get away."—General Alexia Shepard_

…

Henrietta cackled madly; for a little while, she had been worried that the Imperials would prevail, or worse, that Shepard would survive. It seemed her fears were unfounded on both fronts; with the death of their leader, the Imperial army was beginning to crumble, and Shepard was running headlong into a battle she had no chance of winning. It might have been a somewhat rocky start, but it looked like Henrietta would indeed have her revenge.

She then found herself hoping that Malarius would leave Shepard mostly intact after killing her. Henrietta could revel in her victory for a while longer if she kept Shepard's reanimated corpse around. Perhaps she would even have the woman bring her new victims to torture and kill; it would spit on Shepard's character even further, and Henrietta would be all the more satisfied by it.

 _I doubt I'll have that, though,_ Henrietta thought, pushing aside her fantasies. _If what Malarius did to that old man is any indication, there won't be a corpse for me to spit on._

Still, she giggled at the possibilities.

…

For the third time in as many minutes, Locke comforted his horse, trying to keep the animal from throwing him out of the saddle in panic. Getting so close to the power of Chaos was unsettling for both man and beast, but Locke was taking it better than his mount; at least the nobleman could rationalize the enemy as just that, but the horse had no such higher faculties.

"What's our status?" he called out to one of his Outriders, one who led a unit of Pistoliers.

"We're mostly intact, sir," the man replied gruffly. "We lost eight men that stayed behind too long, but the worst the rest of us have to deal with are scared mounts."

Locke nodded, somewhat satisfied with the answer. His attack into the enemy's rear had done damage, and his men had performed admirably—he wouldn't be surprised if more than one Pistolier was recommended for full Knighthood after this battle—but he was frustrated that they just hadn't done _enough_. The plagued host still slammed into the main Imperial line, and it was obvious, even from a distance, that the infantry were getting mauled.

"As soon as the horses calm down, prepare for another charge," Locke ordered, none of his usual cheer present. "If the main force holds steady for a little longer, we might be able to crush the enemy between us, or at least break them apart."

The Outrider saluted, and was about to wheel his horse around to rejoin his men, but something stopped him.

"Sir…" he said slowly, pointing behind Locke.

The younger man turned in his saddle, and his eyes went wide. He could only think of one thing to say.

"Damn."

…

"Hold fast, men!" Michael cried, his entire body alight with holy fire as he smashed apart one Chaos warrior after another. "These blasphemers shall know the wrath of Sigmar!"

The nearest soldiers, mostly the Swordsmen who had been following the Warrior Priest since the battle began, fought with increased ferocity. They had done well, killing dozens of the enemy with only a few losses of their own, but it was just one part of the larger battle. Despite Michael's faith, he could see that the main Imperial army was starting to break, and if that happened, if the majority of troops were routed, the Chaos forces would turn around and overwhelm the soldiers with Michael.

A grunt coming from the Warrior Priest's side made him whirl, hammer raised, but the warrior who had been about to swing an axe into his shoulder fell over, his helm and skull split in two. Behind the dead man, Sergeant Richter panted heavily, but gave Michael a grim smile.

Michael nodded at him; despite losing all of his men, Richter fought on, killing any Chaos dog who thought he was out of the picture. Even more impressive was that the Sergeant had propped up his fallen regiment's banner against the body of the last of his men to die, and was defending both corpse and dirtied banner with a courage that bordered on the insane.

"Did you see the Captain?" Richter asked, shouting to be heard over the sound of clashing weapons and screaming.

Michael crushed the chest of a warrior with a single blow before answering. "She went to avenge General Treinburg."

Richter sagged, but only for a moment. "He's dead, then. Damn."

 _He must not have seen that monster kill him,_ Michael realized. "I wish there was time to pray for Captain Shepard's success."

"She doesn't need it," Richter said confidently. "She can handle herself. I wouldn't mind a prayer for _us_ , though."

If Michael was any other man, he would have laughed.

…

"You sad fools!" Malarius laughed, slicing three men apart with a single swing of his axe. "To know Chaos is to know power! To know Nurgle is to know life! You fight against life, and that shall be your—"

"Shut the fuck up already!"

Malarius turned to see a metal blur, covered in both mud and blood, crash into his personal guard with all the force of a meteor. Many of them had been wounded by desperate Imperials, but until the arrival of this newcomer, none had been slain. That changed when this single mortal slammed a hammer into the head of one guard, tearing it clean off and sending the mangled remains soaring through the air.

"The Captain killed one of them!" a Greatsword shouted. "They _can_ die! Attack!"

Malarius snarled; the cowardly Imperials had been about to break, but this Captain of theirs had restored their courage with one blow.

Well, if their bravery revolved around the actions of one man, then it was likely that the fear and panic would return with the _death_ of that man.

"Kill that fool!" he pointed a bloated arm at the mortal.

His guards grunted, snuffled, or roared, and charged. To Malarius' surprise, however, the Imperials responded with a cry of their own and met the attack, with the Captain leading the way.

The mortal ducked under a chipped, rusty sword, then slammed the hammer down on the arm that held it. If the previous display of strength hadn't happened, Malarius would have been shocked when the arm that was struck was crushed. The warrior was also shocked, and without his primary weapon, he was quickly set upon by a dozen Swordsmen and hacked to pieces.

It seemed that this Captain was intent on reaching him, only fighting one of Malarius' guards if he got in the way. Even then, the Captain only fought until the warrior was weakened, leaving the men behind to finish the job. Malarius was honestly impressed; even those blessed by other Chaos Gods had difficulty getting close to those as putrid as a champion of Nurgle, but this Captain seemed to be fighting through obvious discomfort. In fact, Malarius was so surprised that he almost didn't react when the Captain leaped into the air, hammer poised to crash onto the Chaos Lord's head.

And then Malarius regained his senses, and with his free hand, slapped the mortal out of the air, sending him crashing down into the gore-churned muck, knocking off the helmet and exposing red hair that surrounded the face of… a woman?

It then clicked in Malarius' mind; this woman, who seemed beyond what a mere mortal should be capable of, must be the Shepard person the Vampire wench wanted dead! Malarius found it amusing; he had thought he would have to hunt the woman down in the supply caravan, not that she would actually join in battle, and especially not do _well_.

"So you must be Alexia Shepard," Malarius wheezed in between laughs, rivulets of bile dripping down his chin. "Impressive, for a mortal, and beautiful; be lucky that you face me, and not the lustful attentions of the Dark Prince."

Shepard staggered to her feet, and though she opened her mouth to retort, it was not words that came out, but vomit. So it seemed that, despite being more than the average mortal, Shepard had her limits to Malarius' power.

"With you gone, this battle ends."

Malarius raised his axe.

…

Shepard wanted to fight; oh, how she wanted to fight. This monster, this Malarius, had killed General Treinburg, and dozens of Imperial soldiers, and Shepard just wanted it to stop. There was enough death on her side today.

But as soon as she'd gotten close to Malarius, the smell had hit her; if the stench from the other plagued warriors was bad, this was magnitudes worse. The only thing that had kept her steady was that her helmet was pressing the smell of sweat and steel into her nose, but when Malarius struck her, she lost that small comfort. Without her helmet, she was exposed to the full strength of Malarius' odor. She considered it a small miracle that she'd even forced herself to her feet, and it was understandable that she would puke, rather than talk.

She couldn't fight, though; the longer she inhaled that stench, the weaker she felt. She had no time to look for her helmet, and even if she found it in the swirling melee, Malarius was within striking distance and would kill her before she put it on.

As the axe came down, she had an idea. It was stupid, it was reckless, and it was dangerous to her health, but it might help her fight.

She threw herself to the side, narrowly avoiding getting cut in half, and rolled to her feet. Before Malarius could pursue, Shepard brought the handle of her hammer up—

 _Crunch!_

—and smashed it against her nose and letting the blood run through the broken cartilage. That blood filled her nostrils, and though it dripped from her broken nose and down her face, it also blocked out the smell.

She was in pain, and she couldn't breathe through her nose anymore, but she didn't feel like she wanted to die. More importantly, she couldn't smell anything besides the blood.

"So," Shepard said, her voice now somewhat distorted by her broken nose, "where were we?"

Even though Malarius' face was completely concealed, Shepard could tell that he was surprised. "You're insane, mortal."

Shepard grinned, exposing her teeth to the trickle of blood. "I've been known to be, from time to time." Then Shepard remembered Malarius' words from earlier. "How do you know who I am?"

Malarius shrugged. "A Vampire wants you dead. To achieve that, she opened a path in your defenses, and I attacked."

Shepard's smile turned into a frown. A Vampire? The only Vampires she'd ever met had been at Blutshnitter Castle, and even if one had survived the battle there, the only one she could think of that would have a reason to hate her enough for all this would be—

 _Henrietta,_ she realized. _All this is revenge for a monster that you made? Stupid bitch; you should have killed me yourself when you had the chance._

"I can't believe this," Shepard complained, taking a step back. "All these people trying to kill me; I'm gonna have to start a list to keep track of everything!"

Malarius laughed. "Oh, you still have spirit, woman; your soul will be much more substantial than the old wolf's!"

Shepard's face slowly morphed into a blank mask. "Today's the last day you kill anyone, you ugly piece of shit."

"So you say," Malarius scoffed, and brought up his axe once more. "Come! Let us see if you're worthy of an immortal's hatred!"

Shepard made the first move, charging in close; she ducked as Malarius swung his axe in a horizontal arc. Just before reaching her foe, Shepard flipped her hammer around, holding it in a reverse grip and swinging upward with all her strength. The blow caught the Lord of Bile on the chin and shattered the lower half of his helmet.

If Shepard hadn't been busy dancing back to avoid a retaliatory strike, she would have stared at what lay underneath the helmet. It didn't stop her from making a smart comment, though.

"Holy shit," she said. "You should see a… actually, I don't know who you should see, but you are really, _really_ ugly."

If Malarius' mouth had been anything like a Human's, his mouth would have formed a scowl, or at least a frown. As it was, what he had instead was a circular, lamprey-like mouth, save with teeth that looked like rotted, oversized molars. How he was able to speak like a Human was beyond Shepard's understanding, and she decided she didn't want to know.

"I am blessed by Grandfather Nurgle," Malarius growled. "In his image, I am _beautiful_."

"If you're beautiful, I'd rather be ugly, thanks."

"You dare insult my gifts!?" Malarius raised his axe, incensed. "I'll fill your veins with maggots and watch them crawl out from your eyes!"

Shepard grinned cheekily. "Creative, but I've heard better. You've got more than that, right?"

Malarius roared and charged like a bull, moving faster than his bulk suggested, but he had too much momentum to make sharp turns. Using tactics she'd trained to use on mounted knights, Shepard jumped out of the way, smashing her hammer into a roll of flesh. At first, it looked like the weapon would bounce off, but the spikes protruding from the hammer's head dug deep and ripped a slab of fat off with a wet squelch.

Despite not being able to smell Malarius' stench anymore, Shepard still came close to throwing up when a piece of rotted intestine slithered out of the hole in the monster's side like a snake. Then she shook her hammer free of the attached meat and charged again.

While Malarius had been wounded, he was a scion of Nurgle, and was nearly immune to pain. In fact, he didn't even realized he'd been hurt until he turned to see a chunk of his own flesh on the ground, but rather than discourage him, it enraged him.

Holding his axe in both hands, Malarius chopped downwards, attempting to split Shepard down the middle. Shepard backpedaled at the last second, but her charge had been disrupted as a result, and now it was her turn to feel pain when Malarius lashed out with one hand and punched her in the chest. She was sent hurtling back several feet, landing on top of several dead Imperial soldiers; only by rolling to the side did she avoid getting killed by Malarius' next swing of the axe, but the corpses she had been on were further dismembered, and their decaying remains were reduced to puddles in seconds.

Shepard tried to scramble away, to put some distance between them while she came up with another tactic, but her broken nose was keeping her from breathing properly, and she was winded, while Malarius had energy to spare. With a grunt, Malarius grabbed Shepard, his bloated hands reaching almost completely around her waist and held her up.

"Now, you die!"

The axe came up for a final strike; Shepard fought desperately to be free of Malarius' hand, smashing her hammer against his wrist several times, but to no avail. The axe came down.

A loud bang sounded, and Malarius staggered; his arm thrown off by the shot lodged in shoulder, the axe missed Shepard by a hair, tearing off her left shoulder plate, but otherwise leaving her unharmed.

Malarius turned, and despite still being crushed, Shepard couldn't help but smile as Locke drew another pistol and fired again. This time, the bullet dug deep into Malarius' stomach. With her enemy distracted, Shepard dropped her hammer and brought up her shield in both hands; with a pained shout, she brought the sharp edge of the shield down on Malarius' wrist. In the time it took Malarius to turn his head back to her, she had stabbed down a second time, nearly separating his hand from his wrist. Gravity finished the job, and Shepard fell to the ground, along with the rotting hand.

With a howl of rage, Malarius raised a foot to stomp down on Shepard, but then another impact threw him off. It wasn't a bullet this time, but a large, two-handed warhammer that nearly spun him around. Shepard scooped up her own hammer, and grinned at the owner of the larger weapon: a heavily armored man atop a horse, his head bare, exposing a full beard. Behind that man, dozens of horses rode by; some bore Locke's men, but most of them were wearing full plate armor and carried hammers.

The Knights of the White Wolf had arrived.

…

At the edge of the forest, Henrietta screamed in fury.

…

With the arrival of over a hundred knights, the battle turned in favor of the Empire, and it stayed that way. The ferocity of the Knights of the White Wolf in defense of their home was something to behold. Hammers rose and fell, turning even thick plate into shattered fragments; bones broke, heads were flattened, and iron-shod hooves crushed any who still lived.

Seeing their salvation, the Imperial infantry threw themselves into one final attack, hacking and stabbing with an almost insane determination. In the back ranks, men let out a ragged cheer, when moments earlier they were making peace with the gods.

But the battle wasn't over yet. Now it was the Chaos force that fought desperately; if they couldn't win and they couldn't outrun the vengeful knights, then they would take as many of the foe with them as they could.

All of that raged around them, but for Shepard and Malarius, the focus was on the other. The Lord of Bile rested his axe on his shoulder, ready to bring it down at a moment's notice, while Shepard took up her gore-covered hammer and shield one more time.

Malarius made the first move, stomping forward with his axe raised. Shepard charged in, leading with her shield. The axe came down, but Shepard dived forward at the last second, the axe blade burying deep into the blood-soaked mud behind her. Rolling to her feet, Shepard ditched her shield in favor of holding her hammer with both hands; with a shout, she brought the weapon down on the haft of Malarius' axe, shattering the moldy handle.

Reeling back in shock, Malarius tried to kill her with his remaining hand, but Shepard weaved around, then climbed up the rolls of putrid fat and rusty armor, until she was at the perfect spot. Malarius knew what was coming, and he couldn't stop it.

"I had such plans," he wheezed.

"I don't care," Shepard replied, and brought the hammer down one more time; Malarius' helmet shattered, followed by his skull. Whatever the rest of his face looked like became a deformed mess as his rotted bones collapsed in on themselves. With the last of her strength, Shepard leaped away as Malarius' corpse fell to the ground.

Looking around, Shepard could see that the battle was coming to an end. The few enemies left were being pursued by the knights, who would show no mercy. The soldiers still alive—and they were a pitiful few, barely a third of their original force—began to cheer or collapse as the battle fever left them.

Shepard was among the latter. She could barely stay on her knees, to say nothing of actually getting to her feet. Still, there were things she needed to do; letting her hammer fall to the ground, she reached up and violently shoved her broken nose into place. She would fully heal, in time, but now she could snort out the blood and _breathe_. The stench was still in the air, but she no longer cared; the battle was over.

A drop of water on her head made her look up. Dark clouds had gathered before the battle had even taken place, and it seemed that the weather deemed it time to wash away the signs of war. Rain began to fall in earnest, pushing much of the mud and gore off the exhausted soldiers. Shepard turned her head, looking around at the hundreds of bodies surrounding her; many of them were those of the enemy, but so many, far too many, of them were also her soldiers. She tilted her head up once again, eyes closed, and let the rain fall on her face.

It was then that she finally began to fall back, until a strong arm caught her. Shepard opened her eyes to see Richter, his face lined with exhaustion, keeping a firm hand on her shoulder; his other hand was holding his regiment's banner, and he didn't appear to be letting go of it anytime soon.

"You need to be strong for just a little while longer, Captain," he said quietly, "just until we get into the city and rest."

Shepard nodded, then grabbed her hammer before staggering to her feet. The world she was on didn't matter; troops still looked up to her, and they couldn't do that if she was lying on the ground.

Raising her hammer over her head, she caught the attention of the knights and what was left of her army.

"Middenheim…" she coughed and spat out blood that had dripped into her mouth. "Middenheim is safe!"

Hearing the confirmation of such a simple fact drew more cheers—genuine ones from her men, and throaty roars from the knights.

Shepard barely had the strength to turn her head to Richter. "Now let's get out of this fucking rain already."

…

Had anyone been paying attention to the forest's edge, they would have seen several small trees shake. Henrietta had been slashing at anything in her way ever since the knights had come, saving the Imperial army—more importantly, they'd saved _her_. Her victims ranged from a handful of trees to a group of Beastmen that thought her an easy meal, but her rage had not dissipated. If anything, it got worse.

Henrietta began wondering if she could salvage the situation; if she moved quickly, she could gather her forces and overwhelm—

Then she remembered that she had sacrificed her undead army and mortal Necromancers to keep the Knights of the White Wolf busy. Since at least some of the knights had arrived, it was likely that whatever was left of her army would be destroyed before she could reach it.

With a frustrated scream, Henrietta hacked at a Beastman corpse with her blades, shredding the body into a pile of steaming meat. Most of her anger was directed at Shepard, but a small, rational part of her was mad at herself. She had been convinced that a mere mortal stood no chance against the forces of Chaos, and that all she had to do was sit back and watch.

 _Not again,_ she thought savagely. _Next time, I'll do it myself!_

…

Shepard let out a sigh of bliss as she sank into the hot water. All the tension of the battle, all the aches and pains, faded to a more bearable level. If only the Empire's technology was a _bit_ more advanced, then Shepard could take a hot bath every day.

After the battle was officially over, Shepard and what was left of her army had been escorted into Middenheim by the Knights of the White Wolf and hailed as heroes. Without their sacrifice, the knights would never have arrived in time to save their city, and their Grand Master promised that any of his knights that Shepard came across in the future would ride with her if she but asked. Shepard gratefully accepted the offer, knowing that the ancient order of knights was incredibly powerful. For now, though, all she wanted was for her and her men to get some rest, and Middenheim had given them its best.

Shepard didn't want to think of the battle; not just the horrors she had witnessed—though those would give her nightmares whether she thought about it or not—but also the soldiers she'd lost. And they were her soldiers now; with Treinburg dead, she was in command until further notice. Unfortunately, she simply couldn't afford _not_ to think about the casualties. Hundreds of her men were dead; the wounded had died on their own, with no chance of saving them. Everyone else, barely more than two hundred men, had needed to be half-carried into the city because of their exhaustion; only sheer willpower had kept Shepard on her feet, determined to lead by example until the last of her men were taken care of.

The thought of those who didn't make it back made Shepard's skin crawl, and she vigorously scrubbed herself, trying to get rid of the feeling. It was one thing to lose men, even be unable to send their bodies back to their families, but what the Chaos forces had done had denied their victims even a proper burial. The bodies that hadn't dissolved into paste were too diseased to be touched, let alone moved, and had been left where they fell. Later, when the rain stopped, priests would come to the battlefield and cleanse the area, removing the taint of Chaos from the land. Shepard would be willing to bet that fire would also be involved, just in case.

And then there was the reason the Chaos forces had come here at all: Henrietta, the Vampire woman who had turned Marisa into a monster. Shepard suspected that Henrietta was motivated by some kind of vengeance; after all, Marisa had been referred to as Henrietta's child, and if Shepard's experience with Samara was anything to go by, parents did weird things when it came to their children.

For a moment, Shepard was almost crushed by self-blame, thinking that all this was because she'd killed Marisa and set Henrietta on this path. But she quickly and viciously tossed away that feeling; Shepard had done what she'd done because she had to. It was Henrietta who was to blame, and Shepard would make sure that the Empire kept an eye out for that Vampire, even if she had to go to Karl Franz himself.

 _Next time, I hope she comes for me directly,_ Shepard thought. _I'd love to send her to hell._

A knock outside her door brought her out of her spiraling thoughts. "Yes?"

"Pardon me, Captain," one of the guards outside her room said, "but one of your soldiers is here to see you. He says it's not urgent, but…"

"I'll be ready in a few minutes," Shepard called out. Reluctantly, she rose from the water and dried herself off, then got dressed. In the scramble to reach Middenheim before the enemy, much of the army's non-combat supplies had been left behind, including the clothes Shepard wasn't wearing. Thankfully, Middenheim had provided, and Shepard slipped on a pair of sturdy trousers, white tunic, and slippers. She was still drying her hair when she asked the guards to let her visitor in.

"Richter?" Shepard blinked in surprise; the last time she'd seen her friend, he'd been passed out on a cot, still propping up his regiment's standard.

It appeared that he had finally let the flag go; he was wearing a uniform in the colors of a Middenheim soldier—mostly blue, with some white—to replace his filthy Reikland uniform. He was clean, free of filth and blood, but still looked terrible; even if he'd gotten some sleep, it probably hadn't been good.

"Captain," Richter said, saluting, "I hope this isn't a bad time."

"Not at all," Shepard said, waving in the vague direction of a chair in the corner of her room. "Go ahead, sit."

Richter looked ready to protest, but Shepard seemed quite comfortable sitting on a flat chest at the foot of a bed, so he sat down without complaint.

"Was there something you needed?" Shepard asked.

"I just wanted to ask a favor," Richter said, shoulders tense. "My men… there's nothing to send home. The only thing I have left of them is our standard. I was hoping that…" he took a deep breath. "Most of the men lived near Altdorf. If you could have the standard flown there, I would appreciate it, and I'm sure my men would as well."

Shepard gave him a genuine, if sad, smile. Considering what she'd done for the Empire lately, having a standard put in a place of honor was probably an easy favor to ask of the Emperor.

"I'll do it," she said, "you have my word."

Richter blinked. "Um, thanks, Captain."

For a while, the two sat in silence. Richter seemed lost in his own thoughts, and Shepard absently braided her hair—during the battle, the braid had come undone, and Shepard began wishing for something a little sturdier to secure it with.

Finally, Richter spoke again. "Captain, how are you doing? You seemed… shaken."

Shepard paused in her braiding, then shrugged. "I've never lost that many people under my command before. I had no idea things could get so…" she made a gesture towards the closed window, in the direction of the battlefield.

Richter nodded in understanding. "I've never fought in a battle like that either."

"We'll do better," Shepard declared, abruptly standing up. "We'll improve, we'll adapt, and the next time we have to fight monsters like that, we'll send them running."

Richter stared at her; she wasn't spouting bluster, like many Imperial officers tended to do, but really believed it. Another thing that stood out was that she wasn't saying that she would do it all alone, like some of the more idiotic or zealous heroes of the Empire. Whatever she had planned, it included Richter, and whoever else chose to stand with her.

And though he was tired, Richter stood and saluted. "I'm with you, Captain, and so are the rest of the men. I could hear them praising your name before I came here."

To his surprise and amusement, Shepard suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Right… I'm a hero again. Joy."

Richter was confused by that statement, but shrugged it off; it probably had something to do with Shepard's time before she came to the Empire, and it was a topic she did her best to avoid in conversation.

And so, rather than pry, Richter changed the subject. "What happens next?"

Shepard gave him a grateful smile before answering. "I was told that a message was sent to the Emperor and the Reiksmarshal, explaining the situation. We'll stay here until they send a reply, but I think we'll probably head to Altdorf, or thereabouts."

Richter nodded. "It'll be good to go home."

Shepard smiled again, but this time there was a hint of bitterness about it. "Yeah, it will."

…

Shepard and her forces stayed at Middenheim for a full week. The Knights of the White Wolf threw a party that lasted for most of that week, and many of Shepard's men stopped thinking about the battle and were more concerned with the hangovers they'd acquired. The festivities were only interrupted when they held a ceremony to commemorate those that had fallen in battle; many of the prayers had been conducted in the manner of the Ulric priesthood, but Michael had snuck in a few Sigmarite ones as well.

The camp followers of Shepard's army caught up on the second day, carrying with them all the items that had been left behind. Those men who were still alive reclaimed their possessions, while what belonged to the dead was either placed at the base of hastily-made headstones or divvied up among the survivors if the items weren't sentimental.

At the end of the week, Shepard received a missive from both Karl Franz and Kurt Helborg, commanding that she and her forces come to Altdorf. There had been some developments that needed to be discussed; they weren't terrible, but it would require more secrecy than a simple message could convey.

With farewells from the Knights of the White Wolf—many of whom had elected to escort their new friends out of Middenland—the citizens of Middenheim, and the Ar Ulric himself ringing in their ears, the army began the march to Altdorf. They skirted around the site of the battle, which was still being cleansed by dozens of priests, and didn't speak at all until they reached the forest.

"Say, Captain," Locke said as he rode next to Shepard, though far enough away to not splatter her with mud, "I do not think you, Sergeant Richter, or I found out the winner of our little contest. What was your tally?"

Shepard had never been able to recover her helmet, so Locke was treated to a visible grin. "You brought it up, so you tell us first."

Beside her, his uniform and armor cleaned, Richter snorted.

"Eleven," Locke said proudly. "I suppose helping you fight their leader counts as half, so eleven and a half."

Locke had a right to be proud; even at close range, shooting a man while on a moving horse was hard.

"More like eleven and a third," Shepard corrected. "One of the knights helped too."

Locke looked a little bashful, and Richter snorted again before speaking up. "Six. I don't count ones I had help with, or I'd have nine."

"Impressive," Locke said, his compliment sincere. "And you, Captain?"

Shepard smiled wryly. "Well, if we're not counting shared kills, then I had… twenty-two."

The two officers shared a wide-eyed glance. "What about shared kills?" Locke asked.

Shepard thought about it for a moment, trying to turn the horrors she saw into harmless numbers. "Uh… forty? I think I had more than that, but I lost track."

The men gaped, and Shepard laughed. It was the first time she'd done so with any sincerity since before the battle.

…

When the cheering slammed into Shepard's ears, she groaned. Word had already spread to Altdorf about the brave army that held off the forces of Chaos long enough for Middenheim to be saved; specifically, people were talking about the brave woman who took up the army's leadership after its General had been slain, and led the Empire to victory.

 _It's Elysium all over again!_ Shepard thought with some despair. _I swear, if someone puts up a statue of me, I'm gonna lose it._

Thankfully, other than words of praise, the Altdorf citizenry was content to leave Shepard and her men alone, especially when Kurt Helborg and a column of Reiksguard Knights escorted them to a barracks that had been set aside for them. Once the troops were settled, Helborg asked that Shepard come with him to speak with the Emperor. She agreed, and left her armor—dented, scuffed, and missing both helm and left shoulder-plate—with a much-annoyed smith before following after the Reiksmarshal.

Along the way, Shepard discussed the matter of Richter's standard with Helborg, who agreed to it without any problems. After that, the two of them had some casual conversation. She wouldn't have minded any of it so much, if she hadn't had to ride a damn horse the whole way.

Like with the first time she'd met Karl Franz, Shepard was given a place to bathe, as well as clean clothes that were similar to the last ones she'd been granted. She reflected that if this kept up, she'd have a wardrobe; more than one of her friends from back home would laugh themselves silly if they found out.

"Captain, it is good to see you again," Karl Franz said when Shepard joined him in a small antechamber, along with Helborg and Balthasar Gelt. "Middenland, and indeed, all of the Empire, thanks you for your service at Middenheim."

"I did what I had to," Shepard said modestly, "as did my men."

Karl Franz nodded. "I have no doubt you and your men performed your duty. I will release you back to your barracks so that you may rest, but there have been some developments that need discussing first."

Shepard didn't say anything, only leaning back in her chair.

"Your army was initially formed with the intent of being a second Reiksguard, to patrol the various provinces and eliminate threats quickly," Karl Franz said. "In order to keep the Elector Counts from grumbling, each province donated troops to this cause. However, upon review, it became obvious that the only way to replace lost soldiers would be impractical, especially given the nature of your mission."

Shepard frowned. "I'm guessing something changed."

"Two things," Helborg said, and continued after Karl Franz nodded. "First, while you will not lose any of the troops you still have, it will be more practical if further reinforcements come from one location. It will also give you and your army a base of operations."

Shepard resisted the urge to smile; so, the Reiksmarshal had received her message regarding that issue.

"The second issue is the very nature of your mission," Helborg said. "Even with their previous donations, many of the Elector Counts disliked the idea of a mostly-foreign army traipsing about through their lands. It was decided that provincial defense would be left to state troops and the Reiksguard."

"So… what are we doing, then?" Shepard asked, raising an eyebrow.

Balthasar Gelt leaned forward. "The Celestial Wizards have seen portents in the time you have been gone. They say that shards of light will rain from the heavens; these shards seem to radiate the same kind of magic that brought you here, Captain."

That made Shepard sit up and take notice. "This could be a lead on how to get me home?"

"Indeed," Gelt said. "However, the Celestial College has informed us that these shards have not fallen yet, nor do they know when they will, but now that we know what kind of magic we are looking for, we will know when one arrives, as well as the general area in which they fall."

"Your task," Karl Franz said, "will be to venture forth and retrieve these shards, and bring them back to the Colleges of Magic. They will be examined, both to see what kind of power they possess, as well as to investigate a means of returning you home."

Shepard nodded. "I'll be ready, and so will my men. We just need to rebuild our strength. Um… what do we do when we aren't hunting down these shard things?"

Karl Franz smiled. "As with all standing forces, you will be charged with the defense of whatever land you are based in. Aside from that, you will be left to your own devices, unless something happens."

"There is one more matter," Helborg said gruffly. "Captain, your task may seem personal, but it may prove vital to the Empire. Because of this, there are some who may balk at someone of your rank being in charge of such an important mission."

Shepard sighed. _Great, now I miss Treinburg even more._

"As such, you are hereby promoted to the rank of General."

Shepard did a double-take. "Say what?"

"Rise, General Alexia Shepard," Karl Franz said, his tone serious, but his eyes twinkling with mild amusement as he held out a rolled-up scroll. "Rise, and accept your charge."

Shepard forced herself out of her chair and took the scroll in numb hands; within, the nature of her mission was written out, and bore the signatures of the Emperor, Reiksmarshal, and Supreme Patriarch. This was _exactly_ what she'd been hoping for; in time, it might even be worth all the lives lost.

"Thank you," Shepard said, bowing her head at all three men. "I promise you, I won't fail."

…

In night sky above, a new star appeared. It stayed in place for a moment, then began to sink slowly towards the land below.

Years would pass, and historians would argue when exactly the world began to truly change. Only two things were ever agreed upon: Like all great change, it was accompanied by great conflict, and that Alexia Shepard would be at the center of it all.

 **So, I'm now seven chapters in, and things are finally getting started. Of course, it won't be a fast process, and things are going to take time, both in the story and in real life. Still, this was a fun chapter to write, both because I didn't want to throw up (for the most part), and because I wasn't depressed as all hell. Writing Chaos is hard, and writing the slaughter of the side I'm rooting for makes me very sad. However, Warhammer is rarely so kind as to provide a curb-stomp battle; there are always casualties, even if they aren't touched on much.**

 **And now Shepard has her goal, even if it's vague at the moment. This was done for two reasons: first, because the Celestial Wizards are rarely specific about anything, and second, I had a realization. When I began writing this story, I actually forgot to come up with a real reason for Shepard to continue fighting. I needed something for her to fight** _ **for**_ **, such as a lead on how to get home. I spent a good while thinking on how to achieve that, and this is the result. As Shepard gets closer to these shards, I'll reveal more details.**

 **Next Chapter: Life goes on, and Shepard is both the giver and receiver of surprises.**

 **For the Great Horned Muffin!**


	8. War of the Peaks, Part 1

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. I HAVE STARTED PUTTING LINES OF MOUSETRAPS UNDER ALL THE WINDOWS AND DOORS IN MY HOME, AND I SUGGEST YOU DO THE SAME.**

 **Happy Holidays! Here's a present for you. It's not a Christmas special chapter or anything, mostly because I don't think 'Warhammer' and 'holiday cheer' are able to be used in a positive relationship within a sentence without the universe imploding. Here you go!**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 8

War of the Peaks, Part 1

" _Never get comfortable with how things are. If you do, that's when everything goes straight to hell."—General Alexia Shepard_

…

Shepard had rediscovered worlds lost to time, fought a war across an entire galaxy, even come back from the dead. She had long thought that the word 'impossible' had been erased from her vocabulary, but as she turned the page of the book in her hands, that was the first word to come to mind. What she was reading simply defied reason and sanity.

"There is no way they killed that by themselves," Shepard muttered, turning another page. "Oh, you've gotta be—they _did_ kill it by themselves? What the actual hell?"

The book that was causing her so much disbelief was the third in a popular series of adventure novels in the Empire, all titled _My Travels With Gotrek_. The series followed the journey of the Human poet Felix and a one-eyed Dwarf named Gotrek. In these books, the two would fight all manner of enemies, from hordes of Beastmen to monstrous dragons. Somehow, the duo always survived, albeit sometimes barely.

Despite her denial of these antics being anywhere near plausible, the series had become Shepard's favorite reading material before she'd even finished the first book. She had bought the first one on a whim as she'd walked through a market, and before the next day, she had paid for the entire series to be delivered to her, even chipping in a little extra as an incentive to rush the delivery.

Shepard giggled as, in the story, Felix became more exasperated with his friend, and the Dwarf simply shrugged and charged into yet another fight. Felix had quickly become her favorite character, being both the straight man and unintentional comic relief, even in the middle of a fight. She was a little concerned about Gotrek, though; apparently, the Dwarf was on some kind of death-quest, trying to die in glorious battle against the greatest enemies he could find. Since whatever he currently fought wasn't good enough to kill him—even though the Dwarf didn't even wear armor—he had to find something even more impossibly powerful and fight _that_. When Shepard found out that there really was a group of Dwarfs who went on similar quests, it brought down her enjoyment of the series slightly, but she still loved the books.

A knock on her door pulled her out of the increasingly ridiculous and she frowned. "Come in!"

Richter opened the door and raised an eyebrow. "Haven't seen you for a while, General; did you get lost in your work again?"

"Sort of," Shepard admitted sheepishly, then held up her book. "I've been taking breaks, I swear!"

Richter snorted in clear disbelief. "When was the last time you ate?"

"This morning, _mother_ ," Shepard replied, then looked out the window. "Oh damn, it's almost sunset already?" She leveled a glare at her friend when Richter snorted again, this time in amusement. "Shut up."

"With all due respect, General, you should come visit the men," Richter said. "They're starting to wonder if you've forgotten them."

"How can I when they remind me about things every day?" Still, Shepard got up from her seat, stretched until her back popped, and headed for the door of her workshop, her book safely tucked under her arm.

"You _do_ remember where the barracks is, right?" Richter asked. "It's been a while, so I'm worried you've forgotten."

"Remember when I said to shut up?" Shepard gently whacked him on the head with her book. "Consider it a standing order."

Richter smiled, but dutifully remained silent as they walked down the streets of Nuln.

After getting promoted, Shepard had decided to base her army in one of the Empire's biggest and most productive cities. The leaders of Nuln had welcomed 'The Middenheim Guardian', as Shepard had come to be known, with open arms, and had even allowed soldiers to volunteer to serve in her army. In the six months Shepard's force had been in Nuln, their numbers had swelled to over a thousand men.

Shepard had picked Nuln as her base of operations for two reasons; first, because it was relatively close to Altdorf, and if the Wizards _finally_ detected one of the shards that might send her home, she wanted to be close by when they needed to contact her. The second reason was because Nuln had some of the best engineering facilities in the Empire, second only to the Imperial Engineers School in Altdorf.

While Shepard would have normally preferred to have the best available, the capital had been the one place she wasn't allowed to base her army. Officially, this was because there was simply no room to hold yet another army; unofficially, it was because Karl Franz wanted just a little political separation between him and his newest General.

Although Nuln was smoggy, dirty, and a little crowded, Shepard had quickly come to love the city. Its people had an accomplished history, and they were rightly proud of it. They had created some of the greatest engineering marvels in the world, such as a giant drawbridge that could span the width of the mighty River Reik; the people of Nuln rightly boasted that it was the only bridge capable of such a feat.

When Shepard had expressed interest in working in Nuln's Imperial Gunnery School, there had been some skepticism. Even Kurt Helborg, who had been visiting the city when Shepard made her request, had been uncertain; after all, Shepard had never shown any skill or interest in engineering before. Shepard had shown them all when, after one week, she created a rifled barrel for a handgun that greatly increased accuracy at longer ranges. Senior engineers had nearly fainted when they saw the revolutionary design, and had come close to throwing themselves at Shepard's feet when she said she could streamline production of the new weapons. Within a month, the Imperial Gunnery School had produced nearly a thousand of the newer rifles, while older ones were being sent in to be melted down and remade.

What the people of the Empire didn't know, however, was that Shepard had been something of a prodigy in the Systems Alliance, having intellectual discussions with the best scientists and engineers after only a few years of study. Only Tali and the late Mordin Solus had ever shown her up when it came to engineering and science, respectively, but she'd still given them a run for their money.

After showing her new colleagues the benefits of having a production line, with people doing the same tasks over and over, creating something without actually needing to be an engineer—a technique perfected by Henry Ford in the twentieth century of her Earth—employment skyrocketed in the city. Nuln had been quick to embrace these new developments, especially when this production line could make almost any material good, meaning the economy would boom. Giving Shepard a workshop of her own to make further improvements as she saw fit seemed like a small price to pay.

There had been some other benefits to Shepard's success; high-quality weapons, armor, and equipment were given to her soldiers, and they enjoyed the respect citizens paid them. The Imperial Gunnery School's support also gave Shepard access to a large number of artillery pieces, mainly Great Cannons and Helblaster Volley Guns. Several engineers were working on implementing the rifled barrel technique to these weapons, and Shepard was eager to see the results.

When Shepard and Richter entered the barracks, dozens of soldiers saluted, waved, or outright cheered. Richter didn't speak, but his smug smile clearly said 'I told you so'.

"Don't make me hurt you," Shepard threatened, though she didn't mean it.

"Who is getting hurt?" Parral asked as he walked up to them. "I'd rather be studying right now, so if there is an injury, let's get this over with."

Shepard grinned at her friend; the Jade Wizard had volunteered to work with Shepard's army as magical support. He had also brought with him several younger members of his Order, giving Shepard a group of dedicated healers. Some of her men had balked at the idea of Wizards being among them, but they had calmed down when they saw that their General openly welcome Parral and his companions.

"No injuries yet," Shepard said, patting Parral on the shoulder.

"Good," the Wizard huffed. "You scared a year off my life last time."

Shepard grimaced at the reminder. After her first successful project, she had begun working on new types of gunpowder; the bane of many Imperial armies was when rain made Handgunners and artillery useless, so Shepard had resolved to fix that. Her first attempts had been sketchy; she had forgotten some things about black powder, and an explosion had gone off that sent shards of metal and glass throughout the workshop. One piece of shrapnel in particular had buried its way into Shepard's neck; she had cursed up a storm, then yanked the offending bit of metal out, much to the dismay of Parral, who had come to investigate the noise. After healing the wound, he had lectured her for almost twenty minutes; Shepard had felt like a child being scolded by a teacher the whole time.

The quest for waterproof gunpowder ended up a failure; however, Shepard had created a smokeless variety instead, which would help reduce the fog of war that inevitably came when Handgunners unleashed barrage after barrage. Once again, her discovery had earned untold praise from the Nuln engineers, and the formula was being shared with other manufacturers already.

Shepard had initially wanted to create automatic rifles, similar to those used on twentieth and twenty-first century Earth, but the Empire needed to adjust to the changes in technology that had served them faithfully for centuries. The improvements were rapid, but still within the Empire's capabilities; in a few years, provided Shepard was still trapped there, she would introduce more advanced weapons. Her next improvement would be contained cartridges and semiautomatic weapons, which were just improvements to the repeater weapons the Empire already had.

"So, what mad projects are you working on today?" Parral asked.

"Just blueprints," Shepard assured him. "Also a little something for myself, but there's no chance of it blowing up."

Parral nodded, satisfied; he and Richter walked with Shepard through the barracks, occasionally sharing words with some of the men. In respect of their new home, Shepard's troops—even those who weren't from Nuln—had adopted the black uniform of the city. However, they added one unique feature to their armor, one inspired by their General; every man had a red stripe, with a smaller white stripe on either side, somewhere on his armor. Thankfully, the black uniforms underneath the armor kept them from getting confused with the Reiksguard.

"Any developments I should be aware of?" Shepard asked, moving the topic away from herself. "And yes, Richter, you can talk again."

"Just some of the men complaining about not having anything to do," Richter said smoothly. "They're getting bored with just patrols around the city."

Shepard could only offer a shrug. "I wish I could do something about that, but I can't. See if you and the other Greatswords can organize some practice matches to liven things up."

After the battle of Middenheim, Shepard had been left with a regiment of Greatswords without a leader. From the testimony of Michael, Richter had proven himself worthy of joining the Greatswords, and since he was one of Shepard's most fervent supporters, had been put in command of the leaderless unit. There had been some friction at first, especially when Richter was getting used to his full plate armor and new weapon, but his fearlessness and good leadership skills quickly won over the men. It probably didn't hurt that Shepard, Locke, and Michael had unanimously shown support for the decision.

Speaking of the latter two… "Where are Locke and Michael?" Shepard asked.

"Out on patrol," Parral said with a shrug. "You know how Locke's men are with keeping their horses fit, and Michael's 'flock' was getting restless."

Shepard nodded in understanding. Locke's cavalry were not meant to stay cooped up in a city for long, and thus Shepard had authorized them to frequently go out on patrols. After the battle at Middenheim, the regiment of Swordsmen that had accompanied Michael began calling themselves the 'Blades of Michael', and zealously followed the Warrior Priest, much like the Greatswords now followed Shepard.

And Shepard sympathized with both men; she was also someone who needed to be _doing_ something. Thankfully for her, she had busied herself with her projects, but even that wasn't always enough; more than once over the last six months, she had led units on patrols outside the city, just to break up the monotony.

"Is anyone else a little worried that we haven't been called up for anything since we got here?" Shepard asked. "The longer we don't do something, the more it feels like something really bad is going to happen."

Richter shifted in his armor. "I'll see about running more drills, just in case."

Parral sighed. "I'll see to it that the other Jade Wizards are prepared."

"Thanks, guys." Shepard gave them a helpless shrug. "Tell Locke and Michael to get ready once they're back from patrol."

"And what about you, General?" Richter asked.

"I think I'll send a letter to the Reiksmarshal," Shepard said. "I'll ask if anything is going on. If you need me, I'll be in my workshop."

Both men nodded and went deeper into the barracks, while Shepard turned around and left. With her mind whirling with possibilities and what-ifs, she was only barely able to avoid running into people on her way back to her workshop. In fact, she _did_ run into one person, a tall man with long blonde hair, a chainmail shirt, and an ornate sword at his side.

"Sorry," Shepard said absently, then stepped around the man's companion, a heavily muscled Dwarf whose hair and beard were dyed orange, and carried a large axe in one hand.

It wasn't until a minute later that Shepard stopped and glanced over her shoulder at the duo, who had already vanished into the citizens milling about. She then glanced down at her book.

 _No way,_ she thought. _Just a coincidence._

…

An hour later, Shepard was a little more relaxed. She had sent out a letter to Kurt Helborg, asking to be informed of any developments that might need the help of her army. Knowing that there simply wasn't anything else she could do, Shepard went back to working on her personal project.

After a year in this world, Shepard had missed the feeling of having a gun in her hands, and had resolved to fix that.

With her successes, it had been easy to trade her recipe for smokeless gunpowder for the blueprints for repeater weapons. Once Shepard had examined them, she had gone about creating an improved version; she told herself that it would be a prototype for a mass-produced version, and while it was true, she was just happy to have a new toy.

"Come on, you little bastard," Shepard grunted as she tightened the last screw on her repeater pistol. The repeater weapons of this world had many moving parts and were difficult to produce—though Shepard hoped that the assembly-line method she'd introduced would help with that—which made them rare outside of an engineer's personal armory or someone who knew an engineer. Shepard's had incorporated her rifled barrels, and she had created two dozen prototype cartridges. If her calculations were right, she could fire her entire supply in just over a minute, and she would almost certainly hit her target from up to fifty feet away.

Of course, she still needed to test-fire the thing, but that could wait until tomorrow.

Shepard smiled and stepped away from her creation to admire it. The metal gleamed in the candlelight, while the polished wood had been enchanted by Parral to be almost as hard as steel. The five-barreled pistol was probably the deadliest infantry-held gun in the world, and Shepard was excited to try it out.

A flicker of movement suddenly caught Shepard's attention. It was barely noticeable, a shadow that blended into another, but years of experience had honed Shepard's instincts to near paranoia.

"Is someone there?" Shepard called out, stepping away from her table. She was sure that she'd locked the door to her workshop, but it was possible that a skilled thief had picked the lock; with all her successes, it wasn't impossible that someone had gotten jealous and wanted to steal her secrets.

There it was, another blur, so subtle that only the sharpest of eyes—or ones that had received cybernetic enhancements, like Shepard had—would have spotted that much. Whoever was there, Shepard was positive that they weren't friendly.

She was right; only by ducking at the last second did she avoid a hunched figure's lunge, a glowing green dagger in each hand. The assailant's features were concealed by a long black cloak and hood, but Shepard still saw the long, hairless tail that poked out, and the red eyes that glared from the shadows of the hood.

 _Ah, someone's finally trying to kill me,_ Shepard thought wryly. _That's why everything's felt off lately._

Even as Shepard jumped back to avoid another attack, she wondered who, or what, this thing was. The tail meant that it wasn't Human, but Beastmen weren't so clever. A mutant, maybe? Shepard decided to see if she could catch this one alive and get some answers.

She threw herself to the side when one of the glowing daggers nearly hit her. One thing she knew about enemy weapons was that if they glowed, or just looked unnatural, it was better to stay far away from them.

Unfortunately, all she could do was run; her armor and weapons were back at the barracks, and all she had for protection was a pair of thick gloves. The rest of her clothes, a black tunic, grey pants, and black boots, were of no help at all. Still, Shepard had learned long ago to never completely rely on weapons and armor; she would make do with whatever she could find.

A gleam of metal caught her eye, and Shepard rolled to scoop it up; it turned out to be a wrench that had fallen from another table when she had bumped into it. The tool might have been just that, but it was more than she had a moment ago.

The assassin hissed and swiped with its daggers, but Shepard ducked and punched it in the gut. The creature was surprisingly thin underneath its cloak, but Shepard had no time to wonder on that. She swung her wrench at the closest part of the attacker, which turned out to be one of its thin hands. With a grainy crack, its hand broke, and it dropped one dagger with a muffled squeal. Shepard followed up with another punch, then a kick that knocked its other weapon away. She was about to strike again when something lashed at her face; only by dropping to the floor did she dodge a third dagger, this one held by the creature's _tail_!

Shepard scrambled out of the way of another strike, then charged blindly, hoping to get in too close for the tail to hit her. She tackled the assassin to the floor, then heard a gasp; it wasn't until she saw blood pooling from underneath the creature that she realized that it must have accidentally stabbed itself when it crashed on its own tail.

Breathing hard from excitement, Shepard rose to one knee, looking down at the creature. "Let's see what the hell you are."

She pulled back the creature's hood, and nearly jumped in shock. The _thing_ that had tried to kill her looked remarkably like a rat. If it hadn't been hunched over, it would have been almost as tall as a man, and other than the fact that it stood on two legs, wore clothes, and wielded weapons with skill, it could have easily been mistaken for a freakishly large rat.

Once again, Shepard's instincts alerted her at the last second, and she rolled away to avoid a _second_ assassin. Judging from the tail and posture, it was another rat-man. If she wasn't desperately avoiding death, Shepard would have berated herself for letting _two assassins_ slip by her.

Unlike the first one, this new assassin started off using its tail-held dagger first, then tried to stab Shepard with the ones in its hands when she was off-balance. However, after dodging the first tail-strike, Shepard dropped her wrench and actually _caught_ the tail in her hands; with a mighty pull, she yanked her would-be killer forward, tripping it up.

Now it was the assassin's turn to run, but though it tried pulling away on all fours, Shepard gamely held onto the tail. She kicked the rat-creature in the face, then pressed her boot between its shoulder blades; her other foot smashed into its face again, then kicked its daggers away.

"Who are you?" Shepard demanded. "For that matter, _what_ are you, and why are you trying to kill me?"

The creature responded, but its chattering, squeaking language was far too alien for Shepard's translator to interpret. Scowling, Shepard stomped on one of its wrists, crushing it; when the thing shrieked in pain, she yanked on its tail.

"Try again," she said calmly.

The creature glared hatefully at her. "She-man-thing dies now!"

Before Shepard could even register the rapid-fire Reikspiel, something slammed into her back. She rolled with the impact, and though the dagger from the _third_ assassin actually made contact, it only opened a small hole in her tunic, never actually touching her skin. Still, Shepard was now facing two assassins, even if one was nearly crippled.

Before any of them could move, there was a crashing sound, and the door to the workshop slammed inward. There were two voices that shouted angrily, but Shepard had no time to think about her potential allies. With the assassins distracted for half a second, Shepard barreled into the newest one; she stunned it with a thunderous headbutt to its snout, then shoved it in the direction of the voices. Without stopping, she whirled on the other one, clocking it across the face with a left hook before grabbing its tail again; this time, she wrapped it around its throat and pulled as tightly as she could. She would have preferred taking one of these things alive, but the two newcomers weren't necessarily allies, and there was no way she was going to try taking a prisoner when there were three others to fight.

The rat-man struggled in the grip of its own tail, but Shepard only tightened her hold further. When the assassin stopped moving, Shepard pulled even tighter, just in case it was faking; she only let go when there was a sickening crack, and the corpse fell with its neck twisted unnaturally.

She turned to see what else she had to deal with, but the third assassin was already dead; one of its arms had been hacked off, and a large axe was buried in its chest. Shepard stared at the newcomers—the man and the Dwarf from earlier—and they, in turn, stared at her. From the way the Human's sword dripped blood, he had lopped off the rat-man's arm, while the Dwarf had killed it.

Panting, Shepard wiped away a bead of sweat that dripped down her nose, the grease-stained glove leaving behind a black streak. "Thanks for the help."

The Dwarf and man glanced at each other, and then the latter spoke. "It was no trouble, milady."

Shepard smirked. "Uh, 'milady'? Do I look like I'm wearing a dress? It's 'General'; General Alexia Shepard."

The Dwarf huffed, and from the bitter look in his eye, Shepard figured that was the closest the guy came to laughing. "She's better than most of your womenfolk."

The man, whom the Dwarf had spoken to, sighed. "Please ignore him, mil—I mean, General. I am Felix Jaeger, and this is my companion, Gotrek Gurnisson."

 _What._ Shepard glanced from the Human to the Dwarf. The former's features, sword, and red cloak, and the latter's build, hair and beard, eye patch, and axe all matched the descriptions in the very books Shepard had been reading!

"You're kidding me," she said.

Gotrek raised an eyebrow and glanced at Felix. "It seems she knows us."

"I blame my idiot brother," Felix muttered. "He still owes me money."

 _I don't believe this,_ Shepard thought. _These guys are real, I'm meeting them in person, and I've got grease on my face!_

…

It was decided that it would be safer in the barracks than in the workshop, so Shepard gathered up her blueprints, armor, weapons—including her new pistol—and anything else that was essential and made her way to her soldiers. Gotrek and Felix tagged along, the former dragging a dead rat-man with him.

As soon as they discovered that their General had been attacked, Shepard's soldiers went into a flurry of activity, securing the barracks and keeping an eye out for even the slightest hint of movement. They were so tense that they would have attacked Gotrek and Felix if Shepard hadn't vouched for them. Once things seemed relatively secure, Shepard held a council of war with the duo, as well as Richter, Locke, Michael, and Parral.

After introductions were made—and everyone got over the fact that the characters from Shepard's books were _real_ —Shepard got right to the point, pointing at the dead rat-man. "Can someone tell me what that thing is, and why three of them tried to kill me?"

"They're called Skaven," Felix said calmly. "My best guess would be that some Skaven warlord or other doesn't like you, or sees you as a threat, and wanted you dead."

Locke scoffed. "The Skaven are a myth, a tale to scare children into going to bed. More likely, this thing is a mutant."

Gotrek scowled. "My people have fought these monsters since before your Empire was founded. They are very real."

Locke looked ready to argue the point, but Shepard tapped his shoulder. "Look, I was just attacked by three of these things, so until I've got proof otherwise, I'm willing to accept that these 'Skaven' are real."

"Yes, General," Locke muttered, shooting Gotrek a glare.

"What do we do next?" Parral asked; of all of Shepard's officers, he was the calmest. "These creatures may still try to kill you, General."

Gotrek roughly kicked the Skaven corpse he'd brought with him. "It'll stop if we kill the one who hired these buggers."

"You want to help?" Felix asked, looking at the Dwarf in surprise.

The smile Gotrek gave was not a pleasant sight. "Do you know how many grudges my people have with these filthy rats? I would be happy to cross out a few of them."

Felix opened his mouth to protest, then sighed. "Why do I even try anymore?"

Shepard patted him on the shoulder sympathetically. "Getting dragged into things you don't want any part in?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, I know the feeling. It sucks."

"General!" Everyone turned to see one of Shepard's soldiers running up to them. "There's someone at the barracks' entrance who wants to see you. He says he's a Wizard."

Most of the group was both surprised and suspicious of the timing of events. Gotrek only harrumphed.

With her hand resting firmly on her hammer, Shepard led the way to where this newcomer was waiting. He was a tall man, easily the tallest among them, but thin almost to the point of emaciation. He looked to be a few years older than Shepard, but his long mustache made him appear older. His robes were white and edged in purple, while his sleeves were a dark blue, as were his sandals and the skullcap on his head. Resting in the crook of his arm was a long staff that ended in a miniature replication of the solar system.

"General Shepard?" he asked in a trance-like voice. "I am Heinrich Gettmann, of the Celestial Order. I have come with orders from the Patriarch of my Order, the Supreme Patriarch of the Colleges of Magic, and the Emperor."

It didn't escape anyone's notice how Gettmann phrased his introduction, and where his ultimate loyalties lay.

"As if I don't have enough to deal with," Shepard groaned. "Look, we have a bit of a situation here, and I don't know—"

"This is about your would-be killers, yes?" Gettmann smiled serenely. "We saw spots of darkness come for you, but we knew that you would be victorious."

Richter's hand twitched in the direction of his sword. "So you knew that the General would be attacked, and you did nothing?"

Gettmann's smile didn't waver. "I am here, am I not? Rest assured, what I have to say will solve more than one problem."

Shepard smiled back; unlike the Wizard's, or even Gotrek's, hers was downright terrifying. "Please get to the point. I've had a rough night, and I'm tempted to let my new Dwarf friend hit the nearest obnoxious Wizard."

Gettmann glanced at Gotrek, who cracked his knuckles. "Very well. It would be wiser to get to the heart of the matter." He paused, and Shepard was tempted to carry out her threat via Gotrek. "The first of the shards has fallen."

Both Gotrek and Felix were confused by that statement, but the other officers had been informed of their mission and immediately tensed.

For a moment, Shepard tuned out everything; all of her focus was on the Wizard. "Details. Now."

Shepard gestured for all of them to go inside, while Gettmann spoke. "The first of the shards of light has come. It fell outside the borders of the Empire, to a place within the World's Edge Mountains, a jewel in a broken crown. In our visions, it fell in the midst of three warring armies who fight both in the light and beneath the mountains. Should this shard fall into the hands of the servants of evil, I fear something terrible will happen."

"Can you be more specific than just 'something terrible'?" Shepard asked. Gettmann shook his head. "Great. Do you know where we're supposed to go?"

"I do." All eyes turned to Gotrek. "There's only one place I can think of with that kind of fighting right now. We have to go to Karak Eight Peaks."

It took Shepard a moment to figure out what he was talking about; she had learned so much over the last year that it was hard to remember everything. The Dwarfs named their strongholds Karaks—though the Dwarfs were reluctant to share much of their language with other races. Over the last few thousand years, more than one Karak had fallen, either to invaders or natural disasters. Karak Eight Peaks, one such loss, was supposedly held by Goblins, but a large army of Dwarfs was fighting to reclaim it. When discussing the matter with the Reiksmarshal, both he and Shepard had wished that the Empire had fewer problems, so that it might aid their old allies.

Shepard took a deep breath, then smiled. "So… how do we get there?"

 **And that's the beginning of this arc, folks! I know it was short, but expect all openings to each arc to be similar. And remember how the last chapter said Shepard would be bringing about great change? Well, she's going to Karak Eight Peaks. This is where shit gets real. Also, I'm bringing in my two favorite factions: the adorably fluffy Skaven and the alcoholic angry guys *cough* I mean, the Dwarfs. Just a notice, this arc will be a LOT longer than the last one. Like, easily ten chapters long. Heck, just** _ **getting**_ **to Karak Eight Peaks will be at least one chapter.**

 **So, I've brought back Parral, because I like him, and Richter is now the leader of Shepard's personal guard. It felt right. And now I've introduced another Wizard; when creating him, I had a male version of Professor Trelawney from Harry Potter, only less, um… fake. If you were annoyed with him, don't worry, so was I. No, I'm not sure when/if I'll kill him off. Still, I wanted a Celestial Wizard on Shepard's team. Seeing the future is useful.**

 **Also Gotrek and Felix. I know their appearance wasn't very long so far, but they'll be hanging around for this arc. And maybe one or two more in the future. As for why they're in Nuln, that will be explained later; right now, there are more important things to take care of, like helping Shepard fight evil clones of Splinter (or maybe Splinter is a good, courageous clone of a Skaven?). Now, when I was writing them, I tried to use my old Gotrek and Felix books as reference material, but I can't find them. If I totally f***ed up their behavior/dialogue style, please let me know so that I can fix them, because I love these guys. There might not have been too much information about them in this chapter, but that will change as things go on.**

 **Next Chapter: Shepard and her army set out to find the first shard. The battle at Karak Eight Peaks will be hard, but that's assuming that they make it there alive…**

 **By axe and Muffin, it will be done!**


	9. War of the Peaks, Part 2

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. DESPITE THIS, I'M OFF TO LIBERATE A BESIEGED NON-HUMAN SPECIES FROM OVERWHELMING ODDS. ANYONE WANT TO JOIN ME?**

 **All right, first chapter of 2016! Happy New Year, everyone!**

 **It's one thing to decide where to go. It's another thing to actually get there. Road trip!**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 9

War of the Peaks, Part 2

" _You'd think I'd know that nothing is ever easy, but apparently, I didn't until a long time later. I should have known that getting to Karak Eight Peaks wouldn't be simple… at least I had good company along for the ride."—General Alexia Shepard_

…

Shepard had expected that Karl Franz would have mixed feelings about her first destination, and she was right. The Emperor sent Ludwig Schwarzhelm to convey a message; the Emperor's Champion dutifully repeated, word for word, Karl Franz's apprehension sending the newest Imperial General outside the Empire's borders. However, in order to retrieve this shard, the importance of which could not be overstated by the Celestial College, he was willing to let her go.

"Would it not be wise to request additional forces?" Schwarzhelm asked as he watched Shepard's army prepare to leave Nuln.

"Honestly, I wish I could," Shepard said. "But I've been told by a Dwarf who was actually at Karak Eight Peaks not too long ago that the situation is unstable at best, and waiting just isn't an option. Besides, a larger force would get slowed down getting through the mountain passes."

Schwarzhelm nodded, accepting Shepard's reasoning. "Do you know how long the journey will take?"

"Well, I've got a guide," Shepard said, glad that Gotrek and Felix had been willing to help. "As long as we don't do anything stupid, we should make it to Barak Varr in two weeks, and then we can barter transportation to Eight Peaks. Hopefully."

As much as Shepard wished she could leave immediately, it simply wasn't feasible. Supplies had to be obtained, messages had to be sent, and the journey had to be charted. Still, by normal Imperial standards, Shepard's army was being deployed remarkably fast; they would be leaving Nuln after only four days of preparation. They would journey southeast, through Averland—Shepard was glad that Count Leitdorf liked her enough to even send troops to escort her through his lands—and then through Black Fire Pass. After that, they would head south, to the Dwarf port city-fortress of Barak Varr and secure a route through the river to the base of Karak Eight Peaks. Gotrek had assured her that, if it helped reclaim that ancient stronghold even slightly, plenty of Dwarfs would help the army get there.

"Very well, General," Schwarzhelm said gravely. "I shall leave you to your work; may Sigmar favor you."

Shepard was about to nod, but a thought struck her. "Say, do you think you could do me a favor?" Schwarzhelm only raised an eyebrow, so Shepard continued. "I don't know if someone will try something again, but could you have some guards outside my workshop?"

Aside from the Skaven, who hadn't made another attempt on her life, Shepard also worried about some of the more ambitious engineers and nobles who might see her absence as an opportunity.

"I shall see to it," Schwarzhelm promised, then turned and left, his duty now complete.

Shepard put the man out of her mind and went back to reviewing a list of supplies. She trusted the quartermasters, but she had always liked to see the results of her people's work.

"General, the men are ready to move out," Richter said, jogging up to her. "Should we begin the march?"

Shepard glanced up at the sky. "It's getting dark. I'd rather not have an accident five minutes after leaving. We'll head out tomorrow at sunrise; tell the men to turn in early, because we've got a long trip ahead of us."

"Yes, General." Richter saluted, then turned and began barking orders as he left.

"You've got quite the commanding presence," Felix commented from behind her. Unlike most of the people here, the poet had been relaxing in a quiet corner for the last few days, though he didn't stray too far away from Shepard. She suspected that he and Gotrek were keeping an eye on her, in case of another Skaven ambush; still, at least Gotrek patrolled the perimeter, while Felix seemed to taunt her with his laziness.

"I have to be, to make up for your lack of presence at all," Shepard replied. Favorite character or not, Shepard did not like seeing people not doing things while others were working.

Felix only laughed, and Shepard wasn't sure what bothered her more—that the man didn't seem bothered enough to help, or that she noticed how good he looked with a smile. It only added to his beautiful hair, and how his clothes were _just_ tight enough to hint at the muscles underneath—

 _Get a grip, girl,_ Shepard berated herself. _You can fantasize when you're not busy!_

"If the troops are sleeping early," Felix said, "we should get some dinner before they do."

"Well, _I_ will," Shepard said. "I'm a General. You, on the other hand, wait until everyone else gets his food." She ignored the pitiful look on Felix's face. "They've earned it; all you did was sit there."

With her back turned, Shepard only heard Felix sigh; likewise, the man didn't see her smirk. Even if Felix wasn't helping with the work, he was at least good for some amusement.

…

The next morning, Shepard marched out of Nuln at the head of her army. Her armor gleamed in the light of the sunrise; in particular, it seemed to make the eye-holes of her helmet glow. A month after the battle of Middenheim, Shepard had been presented with a new helmet, a gift from the Ar Ulric himself. While still a functional helm, it had been shaped into the likeness of a snarling wolf, and supposedly blessed its wearer with the keen senses of a wolf as well.

Shepard wasn't sure if it had been magically enchanted or if people just believed that it gave that kind of power, but, when she put it on, everything _did_ seem a little sharper. It might have been paranoia on her part, but Shepard decided not to bring the helmet to Parral to see if it really was magical, in case that somehow took away its power.

"With your permission, General," Locke called out as he brought his horse alongside Shepard, "I would like to take some of my riders and make sure that the path is clear."

Shepard nodded. "Take only a small group, I want the rest watching our flanks as we go."

Locke grinned and bowed in his saddle. "Of course, General."

Once Locke and several of his Pistoliers rode off, Shepard heard Gotrek snort. "I can't tell if that man is a fool or only playing one."

Shepard turned her head; the first thing she saw was Gotrek's orange crest of hair, then looked down to see the rest of the Dwarf. "Kinda both, actually. He's fine when he's fighting, and unless he does something really stupid, I don't care how he acts off the field. Besides, he knows where to draw the line."

 _Most of the time,_ she added in her mind. _There was that one time a couple months back when he got drunk… well, I'm just glad no one else was around. It might have been embarrassing for him._

Gotrek only scoffed and continued marching, his head turning left and right, as if scanning for danger. Shepard doubted he'd find any; they had been out of Nuln for all of five minutes. Still, if the books were even half right, the Dwarf was probably _hoping_ for a fight.

"Can you tell me more about Karak Eight Peaks?" Shepard asked, shifting to a more comfortable topic.

Gotrek scowled behind his bushy orange beard. "Once, long ago, it rivalled Karaz-a-Karak in splendor. Then the damn Skaven and Greenskins drove my people out. The fighting going on now is the closest we've come to reclaiming that hold."

Shepard frowned. "If it's so important, why isn't more being done to retake it?"

"It's been three thousand years since it fell, lass." Gotrek tightened his grip on his axe. "Many see it as a lost cause."

Under her helmet, Shepard smiled. "Sometimes, those are the ones worth fighting for the most." Curing the genophage, brokering peace between the Geth and the Quarians, not to mention fighting the Reapers, had taught her that.

Gotrek gave her a strange look, but said nothing more. That was good, because Shepard started thinking about her home again; if these shards she was hunting for really could get her home, she was going to have some explaining to do. It wouldn't surprise her if Admiral Hackett had her write a report on the whole thing… and then the Council dismissing the whole thing as impossible, just like usual.

Now Shepard's mood turned bittersweet; at least in this world, people believed her when she said something.

…

The army made camp just after entering Averland. Rations were distributed and carefully monitored; once they were outside the Empire, supplies would be an issue, especially if the Dwarfs of Barak Varr decided not to help.

While eating, Shepard held a council of war with her officers, along with Gotrek, Felix, and Gettmann, the latter of whom Shepard was still trying to decide if he was part of the army or just a tagalong.

"What kind of threats can we expect along the way to Barak Varr?" she asked.

Felix shrugged. "The occasional band of Orcs or Goblins, but the area between the Empire and Dwarf holds is generally safer. The problem will be getting to Eight Peaks itself."

Gotrek nodded. "Aside from the Goblins and Skaven, there are all sorts of dangerous things in the mountains."

"We should be wary," Gettmann said in his trancelike voice; he had been staring into a crystal ball since the meeting began. "A conflict looms on the horizon, General; agents of darkness move against the children of stone."

Most of the officers either gave the Wizard a wary look or inched away; Parral only arched an eyebrow, while Shepard sighed.

"By 'children of stone', he means your people?" Shepard asked, looking at Gotrek, who nodded. "Great. Everyone, keep an eye out for trouble. More than usual, I mean."

"Maybe I should just sleep with my sword unsheathed," Richter grumbled. "That would just save time."

"That's why my people don't bother with things like swords," Gotrek said. "Axes and hammers don't need a scabbard."

Shepard grinned, even though she made a note to keep her hammer close at hand; her encounter with the Skaven assassins had shown her that she could no longer assume that she was safe just because she was off the battlefield. That was one more reason to get home—she could handle reports and disbelieving looks, so long as she could finally feel safe.

…

The trip through Averland was mostly uneventful, save for when Count Leitdorf decided to personally escort Shepard's army through his lands with an army of his own. During the trip, Shepard listened with patient amusement as the Mad Count launched into several lengthy, and hilarious, stories. Shepard was sure that most of them were exaggerated, or outright imagined, but at least they were entertaining, and the price of dealing with the man's eccentricities was worth it when she saw that Leitdorf had a dozen wagons of extra supplies waiting for them just outside of Black Fire Pass.

"Sigmar be with you on your journey, General!" Leitdorf called out, waving his extravagant hat over his head as he and his army rode back. "Give the Ogres hell!"

Shepard paused for a moment, then turned to Richter. "I'm positive I told him we were fighting Goblins and Skaven."

Surprisingly enough, when Shepard had revealed the existence of the rat-people, Leitdorf had not only believed her, but had cackled and mentioned something about Daisy owing him twenty gold pieces.

"It might be wise to just smile and nod with that one, General," Richter said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Probably a good idea." Shepard turned to look at the imposing Black Fire Pass. "Okay, that's impressive."

"Yes, it is," Michael said, staring in awe. "This was where Sigmar truly began to create the Empire."

Shepard nodded absently; she had read the story of the famous battle. Sigmar, along with the armies of the other tribal chiefs and an army of Dwarfs, had crushed a vast horde of Orcs, thus securing the area that would become the Empire. Black Fire Pass was one of the most heavily defended parts of the Empire's border, and not just because it was the primary trade route with the Dwarfs. If an enemy broke through the pass, they would have a straight shot at the southern provinces, where much of the Empire's crops were grown. A successful attack there could cripple the Empire for years.

"If we keep moving, we could reach the other side of the pass by sunset, right?" Shepard asked.

Michael nodded, but looked hesitant. "Some of the holiest shrines to Sigmar are located here, General. If possible, I would like to stop at one."

Shepard held back a sigh; she wasn't big on religion, but this would be the last time her men would see a temple to Sigmar—who most of them worshiped—until they returned. If they had been in a more hostile area, she would have refused, but with so many guards keeping the area safe, she supposed that a brief detour wouldn't hurt.

"Try to make it fast," she said, not unkindly.

"Of course, General," Michael said, a genuine smile on his face. "Thank you."

Black Fire Pass was an enormous chasm of black stone, and several spots glowed with pools of lava. Shepard found that a little worrying, but apparently, the worst thing that usually happened was that some idiot actually fell into one of the pools.

As the army made its way into the pass, Shepard saw hundreds of pilgrims, maybe more, who had come to visit such a 'holy' site. Most of these travelers wore threadbare clothing, lacked shoes, and swayed on their feet; more than a few were going to die in this place, and Shepard hoped that Sigmar was really worth it.

A crunch underfoot made Shepard look down; what she had assumed was scattered stone and fossilized plants were actually dusty old bones and rusted pieces of weapons and armor. Some of them had to be hundreds of years old.

"Tell everyone to be respectful," Shepard said in a low voice. "This place is a mass grave."

Those who heard her nodded grimly and spread the word. It could have been her imagination, but Shepard swore that even the horses' steps were quieter after that. Despite the crowds of people, the area was subdued, both in respect for the dead and from the awe that people showed for Black Fire Pass' history. Shepard could appreciate that, though the religious zeal tended to bother her sometimes.

 _Then again, the Empire has been attacked by the kinds of horror people back home thought were only stories for thousands of years,_ Shepard thought. _A little faith might be all that's keeping them from going insane or committing mass suicide._

Pilgrims in the army's path shuffled out of the way, offering prayers to the soldiers when it became obvious that they were on a mission. Normally, such acts would be an awkward sort of encouragement to Shepard, but when grim looks accompanied the prayers, it made her feel like she was walking to her own funeral.

"How long until we're out of here?" Shepard whispered to the closest person, who happened to be Felix.

"We should be clear of the pass by tomorrow morning," he said, looking almost as uncomfortable as Shepard felt. "Provided, of course, that your priest doesn't make us stay longer."

"He won't," Shepard said, even as she thought, _he better not._

"There it is," Michael said a few minutes later, pointing to a small shrine off to the side. It wasn't as maintained as the others, and some of the statues of Sigmar had deep cracks, but several other Warrior Priests were kneeling before the shrine, praying fervently. "My mentor once stopped by this very shrine; he told me that he never felt closer to Sigmar than when he prayed here."

Shepard glanced at her soldiers, still marching. "Would anyone mind if some of the men offered prayers there as well?"

For the sake of morale, Shepard had no problem with letting her soldiers pray; on a practical note, it would be easier if those who wanted to prayed at one shrine, thus keeping them all in one place.

Michael was not prone to smiling, but Shepard's question prompted a full-faced grin. "I will organize the faithful in groups, so as not to disturb the other priests, General."

"Good man." Shepard patted him on the shoulder, then waved over Richter. "We'll make camp just beyond the shrine. We can take stock of supplies and go over our plans while Michael conducts his sermons."

Richter nodded. "Yes, General, I'll see to it. Um, do you mind if I go with the first group to pray, so that I can get to work sooner?"

Shepard blinked; she knew that Richter prayed to Sigmar, but had never put faith before work. Then again, this _was_ a place of holy significance.

"Go ahead, I'll get things started." Richter smiled, then trotted off after Michael.

"So, Felix, mind helping me organize—" Shepard scowled when she saw that Felix had disappeared. "Well that figures."

…

"… and may Sigmar bless us and keep us safe from the blades and arrows of the foe," Michael chanted, kneeling before the shrine, offering his hammer towards a statue. "May He give us the strength to smite the wicked and the unclean. May He favor us on our journey. Amen."

"Amen," Richter echoed, along with the Blades of Michael and half of the Greatswords—the other half of the unit was keeping close to Shepard, as was their duty.

"Remember to keep true to your faith, sons of the Empire," Michael said, turning to them. "It will be your light against the darkness. Now, please send the next group, and prepare for tomorrow's march."

The soldiers began to leave, but a hand fell on Richter's shoulder; Michael was looking at him with piercing eyes.

"What troubles you, my son?"

Richter considered evading the question, but he had never been one to do so to a priest. "I have… concerns, Father."

"They cannot be for yourself," Michael said, "for I have never met such a selfless man."

Richter nodded, accepting Michael's compliment. "I pray every day for Sigmar's protection, and I don't fear death." He hesitated. "It is for someone else that I worry."

"The General." Michael's words were a statement, not a question.

Again, Richter nodded. While Shepard got along with most people she met, there had always been a small amount of friction between her and Michael. It wasn't just that she was not of the faithful that bothered the priest, but that she didn't seem to worship _any_ god; once, when they were alone, Michael had brought the subject up. Shepard had only shrugged, saying that she didn't mind what other people believed in, but for her, she had faith in people, not a higher power.

After that, Michael had never broached the topic again. It wasn't that Shepard was faithless; she just projected her faith in a more earthly way. It wasn't how Michael did things, but he respected it enough to not start an argument.

"We have a few minutes before the next group arrives," Michael said, then knelt before the shrine. "Join me, and we will offer a prayer in General Shepard's name."

Smiling, Richter knelt next to him and bowed his head.

…

"Something on your mind, General?" Shepard barely glanced to her left to see Felix approaching. "You seem to be deep in thought. The frowns will mar your beauty."

"I already have Locke flirting with me, I don't need you to do it too," Shepard said dryly.

"I only speak the truth," Felix said with a grin.

"And _I_ speak the truth when I say that the only reason I don't hit you is because you're handsome." Shepard then leaned back against a rock and looked up at the night sky; with the orange glow of the lava, it was hard to see the stars. "And I need a guide who's a little chattier than Gotrek."

While she appeared calm, Shepard was mentally slapping herself. _Way to go, Alexia, you complimented his looks. Now he'll never leave you alone. Damn it._

"I am both, at that," Felix laughed. "On a more serious note, what are you thinking about?"

"A few things," Shepard said. "One that bothers me the most is the Skaven. Until those assassins came after me, I didn't even know they existed, and now I might have to lead an army against them. I don't like not knowing things."

"If we're going to Karak Eight Peaks, I can almost guarantee that we'll run into them," Felix said, humor gone. "Gotrek and I have fought them before; if you like, I can fetch my friend and we can tell you what we know."

Shepard blinked; she hadn't considered that the two adventurers would be able to provide useful information about their enemy. She berated herself for not considering it.

"That would be great." Shepard pulled out a piece of parchment and a charcoal stick, the closest thing to a pencil. "I'll take notes."

A few minutes later, Felix returned with Gotrek. "What would you like to know first?" Felix asked.

"Everything about how they fight," Shepard immediately said.

Gotrek nodded. "Well, the first ranks will usually be their slaves, their fodder…"

…

The next morning, as Felix predicted, the army cleared Black Fire Pass and turned south, heading for Barak Varr. They kept the nearby Skull River within sight at all times, both to keep an eye out for either the water-going Dwarfs or possible enemies, and to be near a source of fresh water. The further south they went, the worse the area seemed to get; what plants existed were either dead or hardy to the extreme, and the dusty ground seemed to radiate a grim stillness. The only signs of life were near the river, or the occasional bird.

The sun was just starting to set on Shepard's second day outside the Empire when she heard the sound of gunfire.

"Locke!" the Lieutenant was already riding her way when she called. "Take some of your men and find out what's going on."

"At once, General!" Locke flashed her a grin and rode off. The sound of fighting was directly south of the army's position, so unless Shepard wanted to spend valuable time maneuvering over a thousand men, along with their supplies, around the battle, the Humans would have to get involved. The only problem was that Shepard didn't know which option would take more time, and if she could afford casualties before even getting to Karak Eight Peaks.

"I know those guns," Gotrek said, tensing up. "Those are the handguns of my people!"

Shepard nodded; it figured that Dwarf forces would be around, considering they were less than two days away from Barak Varr.

"Get the men into close-assault formation," Shepard said to the Greatswords' musician, who began relaying her orders to the others with quick beats of his drum. "I want us ready to charge before our scouts come back."

With only a few hills, there was little elevation for the Handgunners and artillery to take advantage of. However, Shepard had taught her forces various tactics beyond the simple 'advance in a wide line under the cover of guns'. The tactic she was now employing involved a regiment of Handgunners to team up with two preselected melee-oriented units. One of these was always a regiment of Spearmen, to help with defense, while a unit of either Halberdiers or Swordsmen provided more of an offensive punch. This would allow the Handgunners to get in close without sacrificing their protection, while the melee fighters could advance while still keeping their cover.

This formation utilized cavalry and artillery only as an added bonus. In this case, Shepard wanted more information on what she was fighting before she committed the big guns, but she already knew that she wanted Locke's cavalry protecting the flanks, acting as a mobile firebase.

Moments after the army was organized, Locke and several of his riders galloped up to Shepard; the young Lieutenant's eyes blazed with excitement.

"Dwarfs!" he cried as he got closer. "A small army of Dwarfs is fighting against the rat-people!"

Gotrek's eye went wide, before narrowing grimly. "We need to go to them!"

"And we will," Shepard promised, then signaled the army to begin advancing; as she marched, she turned back to Locke. "What can you tell me about both sides?"

"The Dwarfs are holding their own," Locke said with a smile. "However, the Skaven outnumber them fivefold."

"They should have brought more," Gotrek scoffed, though the grip on his axe didn't lessen.

"The enemy has mainly foot soldiers," Locke continued. "I saw none with bows or guns, but there were several odd contraptions among them."

"Assume they're bad news for the Dwarfs," Shepard said. "Locke, once the fighting starts, take a unit and hunt down those machines; I don't want to give the Skaven a chance to use them." She looked over her shoulder and grinned. "If there are that many of them, I think we'll be able to use our big guns after all."

…

Shepard was surprised; she had already been told that the enemy had numbers, this was the first time she'd been so thoroughly outnumbered since coming to this world. There were literally _thousands_ of screaming, chittering Skaven hurling themselves at a much smaller force of Dwarfs, who couldn't have numbered more than a thousand. Shepard's surprise melted into impressed approval when she saw how unyielding the Dwarfs were. Though horribly outnumbered, the bearded warriors were in a good defensive position, their backs facing the river and their left flank guarded by a huge pile of boulders.

Dwarf Warriors, armed with shields, axes, and hammers, would kneel to allow hundreds of handgun-armed fighters—called 'Thunderers' by Gotrek—to fire overhead, bringing down large groups of Skaven with every volley. The surviving Skaven, wearing rags and armed with rusty knives or other sharp objects, were cut down mercilessly as they came into range of the Warriors.

In the center of the Dwarf line was a group of more heavily-armored Dwarfs, also fitted with shields, axes, and hammers; leading them was a Dwarf whose hammer glowed with power, and crushed the skulls of three Skaven for each one his guards killed.

It didn't look like it would be enough. Each time a Dwarf killed a Skaven, two more took its place, and the rat-man leader—wearing heavy, albeit rusty, armor and carrying two equally-rusty cutlasses—was waving forward a number of wheel-shaped machines. From the way they were being positioned, they would likely hit the back of their own line first, but Gotrek had told Shepard that that was how the Skaven fought.

Well, it would be too late, because Shepard was going to hit the Skaven before they could use their weapons.

With a wave of her hammer, her forces broke from their standard lines and into their groups of three, while opening up lanes for their Great Cannons and Helblaster Volley Guns to shoot down. Cannonballs raced through the rear ranks of the Skaven, killing dozens and wounding many more. The Helblasters were in their element, their many shots pumping into the swirling ranks of rat-men; for each Skaven a cannonball killed, the Helblasters killed six more.

The effect was immediate; Skaven halted their charge and turned about in confusion, then fear, as they realized that they were being attacked from behind. The Dwarfs may not have known what was going on, such were the enemy numbers, but they knew that someone was helping them. Thunderers poured more shots into the Skaven ranks, and Warriors swung their weapons with greater ferocity.

"Advance!" Shepard yelled, and began to move; Richter and the Greatswords were at her back, as were Gotrek and Felix, while Michael and his Swordsmen marched at her right side.

The Skaven leader was desperately trying to rally his forces, but neither the Empire nor the Dwarfs were letting up their counterattack. The advancing Imperial infantry parted ranks again, this time to let the Handgunners fire a volley; Shepard was pleased to note that many of the shots were on-target, proving just how effective her rifled barrels were. The melee-focused fighters then closed ranks and resumed their charge.

When Locke's cavalry hit the Skaven flanks, all hell broke loose; to the Skaven, it appeared that they were surrounded, and were attacking even each other in a frantic bid to escape. However, they were caught between the Dwarf anvil and the Imperial hammer, and they were a perfect target for one more shot before the hammer truly struck.

Gettmann had asked to participate in the battle, claiming that he would serve just as well on the field as he would as a guide. Shepard had obliged him, and the Celestial Wizard had placed himself near the artillery, gathering power while the guns boomed. Then, with a swing of his staff, a massive thunderbolt struck from the clouds that gathered overhead. The lightning crashed into the middle of the Skaven horde; those nearby that weren't killed were blinded by the flash of light, and the panic doubled.

Finally, Shepard and her soldiers got into the thick of it. Swinging her hammer in a wide arc brought down two or three Skaven in a single blow, while the Greatswords were more like threshers as they waded into the enemy. Michael charged into the Skaven like a bull, practically obliterating any foe he hit; his Swordsmen fought with similar fury, stabbing and hacking any rat-man within reach.

Gotrek and Felix fought nearby, their movements in perfect sync. The Dwarf Slayer would kill half a dozen Skaven in a single swing, while Felix would nimbly stab or decapitate any that Gotrek missed. In seconds, the two had killed dozens of Skaven, and they hadn't even hit their stride yet.

 _Damn,_ Shepard thought, _I think the books might have actually downplayed how good these guys are._

It dawned on Shepard, as she bashed the brains out of another Skaven, that many of those she killed had been trying to run away, rather than fight. More and more were being killed by their own kind as they tried to escape, but to no avail; the Dwarfs were immovable object, the main Imperial force had momentum and organization, and any who tried to break out through the flanks were herded back under continuous gunfire from Locke's cavalry.

In short, the battle had become a slaughter.

"There!" Felix's shout caught Shepard's attention; he was pointing his sword at the Skaven leader, who was screaming at a pack of what could have been his personal guard. "We kill him, and this is truly over!"

"Got it!" Shepard called back, then looked at the men closest to her. "Come on, boys, one more push!"

With a mighty yell, the Imperials redoubled their efforts, tearing apart the Skaven and opening a hole straight to their leader. Shepard charged through it, along with Gotrek and Felix.

 _Now's as good a time as any to try this out,_ Shepard thought, as she tossed her hammer to her left hand and drew her repeater pistol. She took aim and fired all five rounds; in an instant, five of the Skaven guarding the leader dropped, smoke trailing from the holes in their heads. _Ha, I've still got it!_

Felix charged into the few remaining guards, gutting two before attacking the last ones. Gotrek, in an amazing display of strength, actually crossed the last few meters between him and the Skaven leader in a single jump. The rat-man crossed his swords in an effort to block Gotrek's axe, but the ancient weapon shattered the cutlasses like glass, not even slowing down as it bisected the Skaven down the middle.

With their leader dead, any hope the Skaven had at rallying died; the entire army slaughtered almost to the last, a pitiful few survivors darting off into the shadows. Shepard was panting lightly as she shook her hammer free of blood and gore; though it had been a swift battle, the sheer number of enemies they'd had to kill had left most of the Imperials exhausted.

"Richter," she called out, waving the man over. "Get the wounded to Parral, and then get me a count of the dead."

"At once, General," Richter said grimly, then staggered off to get things organized.

Leaving things to her officers, Shepard walked through the field of dead Skaven to meet with the Dwarfs, accompanied by Gotrek and Felix.

"I appreciate the help, manling," the Dwarf leader said in slightly hesitant Reikspiel, looking up at Shepard. "But we had this little scuffle under control."

Shepard looked him over; his thick, muscular arms were folded over a black beard that went down to his knees. His plate armor was so thick that Shepard wondered how he even moved, and on his head was a round helmet with an iron spike curling up from either side. His hammer was hanging on his belt, while his shield—crafted to look like a ship's wheel was mounted on it—rested against his leg, blood dripping from it and into the soil.

"I didn't want to take any chances," Shepard said, pulling off her helmet. "Besides, our people are allies; helping you was only right."

The Dwarf's only sign of surprise that Shepard was a woman was a single blink. "Well, it's nice to know some of you landlubbin' Imperials can hold to an oath. I'm Thane Olg Cragbrow. Who are you, and what brings you so close to Barak Varr?"

Shepard held out a hand. "General Alexia Shepard. I'm on a mission that needs a ship to get my army as close to Karak Eight Peaks as possible."

The face the Dwarf made was almost funny, made even more so when he sputtered. "Why in Valaya's name d'you want to go there, of all places!?"

Shepard paused; on the one hand, while she had never been told _not_ to disclose the nature of her mission, it might not be good if she did. On the other hand, lying, manipulating, or otherwise deceiving a Dwarf was a surefire way to get on said Dwarf's shit-list.

"Can I tell you after we get everything cleaned up here?" she asked. "What do we do with all the Skaven dead?"

"Burn 'em," Olg said immediately. "It'll keep the corpses from poisoning the area."

"I'll get some of my people on it," Shepard promised. _Probably some of the Handgunners; they're not as tired._

Olg nodded. "We can make camp a little further south; once the mess is cleaned up, we'll break open the kegs."

Shepard gave him a smirk. "Sounds like fun."

…

It was with a heavy heart that Shepard put the last letter into a box she kept for only one purpose. The letters were short, but heartfelt, even if each one started with 'I regret to inform you…' Still, there hadn't been many to write, and for that, Shepard was grateful.

Casualties had been mercifully light for the Imperials; less than a score dead, and several dozen that needed only light treatment from Parral and the other Jade Wizards. By normal Imperial standards, it was an astounding victory, especially when they had fought a foe that outnumbered them greatly. Of course, that wasn't taking into account that Shepard's more disciplined troops had attacked the enemy from behind, had superior weapons, artillery, and the element of surprise, along with allies.

Shepard was certain that she would rarely be so lucky in future battles.

With that morbid task done, Shepard exited her tent; half a mile away, a great bonfire was still going strong, fed by the bodies of five thousand Skaven. Normally, such a huge number of enemy dead versus a miniscule number of friendly casualties would have been acceptable to Shepard, but Felix had told her that the Skaven were so numerous that they wouldn't even _notice_ five thousand dead.

As Shepard entered the Dwarf camp, situated just next to the Imperial one, she noticed that there was a noticeable lack of supplies. True, each individual Dwarf had a pack filled with things he might need, but there were no wagons to carry large amounts of stuff. Shepard figured that, being so close to a major Dwarf stronghold, there wasn't any need for a supply train.

Still, she frowned as she passed by a row of sheet-covered figures. The Dwarfs had taken casualties as well, more than the Humans had, because they had been the sole focus of the Skaven attack for a time. Just over fifty dead, but the wounded were all able to walk on their own; according to Felix, most Dwarfs would refuse to be carried back, even if he lost both legs.

Thane Cragbrow was waiting for her, cleaning off his shield as he sat on a boulder. "Ah, General!" he waved her over. "Come and share a tankard with me, and we'll talk; I owe you that much for coming to our aid of your own accord."

Shepard had been warned by Felix that drinking was among a Dwarf's favorite pastimes, and that she would probably be offered a drink of her own to celebrate the victory. Olg handed her a pewter mug, nearly overflowing; Shepard took a whiff of it, and noted that she could almost taste the alcohol in the air around the cup.

"Cheers," she said, raising the mug, as did Olg with another, and brought it to her lips. She had never been a heavy drinker, but what went down her throat immediately put every other drink she'd ever had to shame. "Oh… wow."

Olg took a much longer swig of his drink before responding. "Aye, that's good grog, isn't it? You'll never find any better." The two of them finished their drinks in comfortable silence. "Now then, what brings an Imperial army this far south?"

"Like I said, I'm on a mission," Shepard said, extremely glad that her Cerberus upgrades metabolized alcohol too fast to get drunk, because that grog was _strong_. "My troops and I need to get to Karak Eight Peaks to retrieve a magical item."

Olg narrowed his eyes at her. "This item wouldn't happen to belong to _my_ people, would it?"

Shepard shook her head. "Not unless your people ever went to space. I've been told that it literally fell out of the sky and landed in or around the Eight Peaks. My mission is to get it before it falls into the wrong hands."

"Do you know what it does, or who made it?" Olg was staring at her as if he was trying to determine Shepard's mental health.

"No idea who made it, where it's really from, or even what it looks like," Shepard admitted with a rueful grin. "I know that it might be able to get me home, because nothing else can."

Olg was quick to connect the dots. "If something magic is the only thing that can send you home, that means that the same magic sent you from it?"

"Exactly. Either way, it's powerful, and with Goblins and Skaven being so close by, I think we can all agree that letting the bad guys get this thing is bad news."

Olg poured himself some more grog, then did the same for Shepard. "Well… I think I can make something happen."

Shepard choked on her drink. "What, just like that?"

The Dwarf grinned at her. "It just so happens that there's an expedition heading to Karak Eight Peaks by river. We were part of a campaign to clear the area of Skaven pirates and Greenskin ambushers. Thanks to you lot, we've taken out the last of Clan Skurvy's forces. Aye, we'll get you to the Eight Peaks, General, and you'll be going with help; the throng goin' that way has been rarin' to try and reclaim that hold."

"I…" Shepard coughed to clear her throat, and not just because she had choked. "Thank you. I swear, if there's any way to help your people while I'm there—"

"Tell it to King Ironhammer, not me," Olg said, waving her words away. "I'm just going to try and get you there. For now, you and yours just rest; we'll take you the rest of the way to Barak Varr, and then you can work on getting your sea legs."

Shepard took his words to heart; while she had been in the air and in space, she had never actually gotten onto a boat before. In fact, other than the time she'd gone underwater in a modified ATLAS mech, most of her missions had her feet on something solid.

 _I'm just getting all the new experiences, aren't I?_ Shepard asked herself, then knocked back the rest of her grog.

…

In an odd way, Barak Varr reminded Shepard of the Citadel. It was clearly of Dwarf design, but there were plenty of people who were not of the bearded folk, talking, buying or selling goods, either with each other or with Dwarfs; granted, the non-Dwarfs were restricted to the docks and outermost levels of the hold, but it was a definite change from the usually insular Dwarfs.

Even if it wasn't like most Dwarf city-fortresses, Shepard was still amazed by what little she'd seen of Barak Varr. Each building was a perfect blend of enduring pragmatism and intricate carvings, every pillar placed in a way that both held the place together and a work of art. The engineer in Shepard was drooling at the craftsmanship, the pinpoint calculations, and the fact that the Dwarfs had done it all by hand.

Also unlike most Dwarf holds, Barak Varr wasn't built from within a mountain, but into the side of a series of sea cliffs. Shepard had seen a small fleet of trading vessels outside the hold, but once she and her troops were brought inside—and politely, yet firmly, told to wait in a secure location—she had seen another harbor built within the rock, housing dozens, maybe hundreds, of steam-powered ironclads. The guns on the rotating turrets of those ships were far too large to be moved about on land, and wouldn't have been out of place as a permanent artillery piece. Before he'd left to put forth Shepard's request, Olg had boasted of how his clan had not only created the first of these steamships, but had also helped found Barak Varr thousands of years ago.

Speaking of the Thane, he was trying to help Shepard get through the most uncertain part of her journey—so far, at least. Olg had told Shepard that he would do his best to get the Imperials added to the expedition, but for such an important battle, it wasn't a sure thing. While Shepard understood that reclaiming Karak Eight Peaks was important to the Dwarfs and that accepting help might go against their pride, she couldn't understand why they wouldn't want some extra bodies to help. She had brought the matter up with Gotrek and Felix, and while the latter had just sighed in exasperation, Gotrek brought up an interesting point.

"It's not just pride," he said. "My people have grudges against both the _grobi_ and the _thaggoraki_ stretching back since we first started writing grudges down. No one wants some manling to steal the honor of erasing a grudge."

Shepard sighed. "I'm going to have to tell people that that's _not_ why we're here a lot, aren't I?"

Gotrek only nodded, then scowled. "Your skinny Wizard is coming."

As the Dwarf ambled off, Gettmann walked over. "You seem impatient, General."

"If we don't get a ride to the Eight Peaks, we're going to have to take the long way," Shepard said. "And even if we get there in time, the Dwarfs could tell us to piss off, which means the only way we're getting that shard thing is if we fight our allies _and_ our enemies. If we get the bad news, I'd rather we start walking sooner rather than later."

Gettmann only smiled in a way that made Shepard want to punch his teeth in. "We are still following the course of the stars, General. Fate has not abandoned us."

Shepard only sighed. _That doesn't actually make me feel better; besides, 'fate' has never been so kind to me._

The wait continued for several hours; finally, Olg returned, along with several other Dwarfs. Two of them were clearly of higher station than the others, as seen by both their more intricate armor and weapons, and the way the others kept regarding them.

The first was large, for a Dwarf; only Gotrek was bigger, even when not counting his huge crest of hair. He carried a large two-handed axe that bore glowing runes, while rubies were set in his shoulder plates and along his belt, and his helmet had large wings on the sides, shaped from steel. On his back was the pelt of a bear, fashioned into a cloak. A long beard, intricately braided, went down to his knees; it was mostly brown, but there were a few flecks of grey. What little Shepard could see of his face was weathered, and a long scar ran down over his left eye and down his face; there was a shock of white hair where the scar met the beard.

"I am Morgrim Steelblood," the Dwarf said darkly. "Which of you is Shepard?"

Shepard stepped around Richter, who had immediately moved to put himself between her and possible danger. If things weren't so serious, she would have found such protectiveness a little funny.

"I'm General Alexia Shepard," she said, removing her helmet.

The Dwarf Lord looked her over. "Young Cragbrow over there says you want to fight the Skaven and the _grobi_."

He paused, and Shepard realized that that was her cue to speak. "I'll fight whatever I have to. The thing I'm after can't fall into the wrong hands. If that means helping retake Karak Eight Peaks, I'll do it."

Morgrim narrowed his eyes. "You won't get any gold for helping us, and if a Dwarf tells you or one of your people not to touch something, you _don't touch it_. And I can't promise we'll come back, or if we'll even get there."

Shepard met his look without even blinking. "We understand. If any of my men touch what isn't theirs, I'll deal with them myself. And this wouldn't be the first suicide mission I've been on."

After a long moment, Morgrim nodded and looked at the Dwarf next to him. "Can they be fitted in?"

This other Dwarf, the one who'd been offered almost as much respect as Morgrim, was certainly different than most Dwarfs. His armor wasn't as heavy, but it was still thick, and he carried an apron covered in tools; even more equipment was stuffed into his backpack, and his large hammer also looked like it doubled as a wrench. His helmet was topped by half of a gear, and goggles had been worked into it to cover his eyes. Shepard wasn't sure if his beard was naturally black, or if it had been stained by grease. Either way, he looked like a kindred spirit.

The Dwarf took a few steps to the left, then the right, looking over Shepard's troops and muttering to himself. Finally, he nodded.

"If Thane Cragbrow is willing to add his ship to the expedition, we will have room," he said, then held out his hand to Shepard. "Master Engineer Skorri Smokebelch."

Shepard shook the hand. "Glad to meet you." She then looked over his head, at Olg. "So, are you in?"

"A chance to help retake Karak Eight Peaks?" Olg grinned. "What're we waiting for?"

 **And thus, alliances are made, and it's time for the road-trip to turn into a boat-trip. I like coming up with Dwarf names, it's fun.**

 **Now, as for why it was so damn easy to beat the Skaven in this chapter: I sorta combined the lore and the tabletop game for this. Skaven die in droves, this is a fact; what is also a fact is that they are cowards who would much rather let some poor sap do the fighting, and dying, so that they have a bigger chance of getting the spoils. Now, when caught between Dwarfs, who are** _ **really**_ **good at killing Skaven, and an army of Humans who have all the advantages, this fight was only going to go one way. Besides, Gotrek and Felix were with them. Rest assured, this was just a skirmish; Shepard won't find it so easy next time.**

 **By the way, expeditions to aid Karak Eight Peaks happen a lot. The only problem is that getting there is the challenge, not to mention the armies of Goblins and Skaven that surround the Dwarfs inside. As for why Morgrim Steelblood is letting the Humans in on his excursion, that'll be explained later.**

 **Oh, and Clan Skurvy is real, as is the Cragbrow Clan. I also learned that many Dwarfs from Barak Varr tend to use nautical terminology and drink grog, rather than ale, beer, and more 'traditional' Dwarf beverages. Pirate Dwarfs, all I'm sayin'.**

 **Grobi: Goblin(s)**

 **Thaggoraki: Skaven, assassin, footpad**

 **Next Chapter: Shepard and her allies set sail, but it isn't long before trouble catches up to them, and this trouble is on the… large side.**

 **This will be inscribed in the Book of Muffins.**


	10. War of the Peaks, Part 3

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. HOIST THE COLORS AND PREPARE THE GRAPESHOT, TIME TO CLEAR THE DECK OF THIS RABBLE!**

 **What, you thought this trip was gonna be easy?**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 10

War of the Peaks, Part 3

" _I remember the trip up the river. All that metal surrounding me, soldiers and allies heading towards the unknown, and ready to kick the unknown's ass… yeah, I felt right at home."—General Alexia Shepard_

…

"This is… the worst thing… ever."

Shepard bit back a chuckle as she patted Richter's back. The man was leaning over the side of Olg's ironclad, _Grimnir's Shout_ , emptying his stomach. He had suffered motion sickness worse than many of Shepard's soldiers, though the Dwarf ships were stable, and the river wasn't that rough.

"Don't worry," she said as she subtly aimed Richter's head away from her. "We'll only be on this boat for another, er… four days?"

"Kill me now," Richter moaned. "Or just let me walk there. I just want solid ground underneath my feet again."

"Go lie down," Shepard ordered. "Take deep breaths, stay calm. Oh, and maybe wash your mouth out."

Richter had just enough strength to glare at her. "I hate you."

"Yeah, yeah," Shepard gently pushed him in the direction of the quarters. "Get going."

Once he was gone, Shepard allowed herself to relax again, something she had been doing a lot of over the last three days. Yes, she was concerned about the upcoming battle, but until then, there simply wasn't anything she could do, so she wasn't going to stress herself out.

The expedition from Barak Varr had taken another five days to finish preparations, and it was quite the force. Nearly eight thousand Dwarfs were going to march on Karak Eight Peaks—plus another two thousand that were crewing the half-dozen ships carrying them—which was going to join up with an even greater force from Karak Azul. The army Shepard was riding with would try to break through the Goblin barricades from the north, while the Dwarfs marching overland would attack from the south. If all went to plan, the Goblins simply wouldn't have enough time to repel both attacks, and in the confusion, they would be unable to halt either.

Of course, the northern attackers still had to _get_ to Karak Eight Peaks; once they landed at the end of the river, they would disembark from the steamships and head up the mountains. The paths were old, but would likely still be good, even after centuries of neglect, but the main danger would be ambushes by Goblins, Skaven, and the monsters that made the mountains their home. Even the most optimistic tactician would admit that it was unlikely the Dwarf/Human army would arrive unscathed.

Still, that was for the future, Shepard decided, and sat on the guardrails. Once on the ship, she had removed her armor, and was letting the cool air wash over her. The _Grimnir's Shout_ was no _Normandy_ , but it was leagues better than a horse. Plus, she couldn't exactly roll down a window to enjoy the air while traveling through space. Dwarf ironclads were huge, practically floating fortresses, and each was capable of carrying small armies; with six such vessels in the expedition, there was room to stretch.

"Best to enjoy the peace while it lasts, lass." Shepard had closed her eyes, but cracked one open to see Olg standing next to her.

"That's the plan," she said. "Any problems with my men?"

"Other than the ones who keep pukin' on me decks, no." Olg scowled. "I made 'em clean it up."

Shepard grinned. "Aw, you beat me to the punishment detail. That's half the fun of being in command, you know."

Over the last week, Shepard had come to befriend the Thane. Olg seemed fairly easygoing, for a Dwarf, but when his ship was concerned, he reminded Shepard of Joker in his protectiveness. Then again, he had a reason to be protective; the _Grimnir's Shout_ may not have been graceful, but she was tough, packed a punch, and Olg had _earned_ the right to captain her, which was a point of pride for him. His uncle, the Lord of the Cragbrow Clan, had given the ship to him after he had led an attack that ended with thousands of Orcs dead in a single day. Other than when it came to matters of the ship, however, he was quite friendly.

Shepard hadn't met many of the other Thanes that led the other parts of the Barak Varr throng, but she had learned more about Morgrim, the Lord in overall command. Like most Dwarf Lords, he was dour and broody, and he had cause to be especially so for this attack. He was leading thousands of Barak Varr Dwarfs to much risk and little certainty of victory. He had reluctantly accepted Shepard's army joining the expedition, only doing so because Olg had vouched for them. Before they had left port, Morgrim had told Shepard in no uncertain terms that she still had to earn his respect.

And then there was Skorri, who had been so friendly at first; while the Dwarf engineer was skilled in his craft, he had taken a dislike to Shepard once he found out about her own engineering accomplishments. Apparently, the Dwarfs had discovered the rifling technique a long time ago, but though they had shared the secret of making gunpowder, guns, and cannons with the Empire, the Dwarfs didn't believe the Humans were 'ready' for the next step in ballistics technology. After Skorri had stormed off, Olg warned Shepard that it would be better for her if she avoided the Engineers Guild whenever possible.

Olg snorted. "Best you stay below deck; if you stay outside, put your armor on. Maps say we're entering _grobi_ territory; I wouldn't put it past 'em to shoot arrows at us as we pass."

Shepard nodded, but held back a sigh; she had been enjoying the chance to pretend that she had some peace. "I'll take the second option; I'm not the type to let other people protect me while I do nothing."

Rather than comment, Olg turned and headed to the helm, barking orders at the Dwarfs who manned the guns. Shepard took a moment to admire their efficiency, then headed to the crew quarters, where her soldiers were bunked. The horses, wagons, and supplies had been moved to a transport vessel that was nestled safely within the Dwarf convoy, but Shepard's army was still cramped.

"Listen up!" Shepard barked, making sure to be heard over the sound of talking or, in the case of the more seasick men, moaning.

"The General speaks!" Locke shouted, helping to get the men in order. "Pay attention, men!"

Once enough soldiers were quiet enough for Shepard to be satisfied, she spoke again. "As of now, we're going into Goblin-held lands. We probably won't be in any serious danger, but we need to stay alert. Locke, I want you and twenty of your best men to come with me in case we're boarded. Gotrek, Felix, you too!" Locke and his cavalry were used to the motions on horseback, and hadn't been affected by motion sickness at all; they would be good for close-range firefights, even without their mounts. Gotrek would have come up to fight anyway, and Shepard had Felix come along because it amused her to make him do things he didn't want to do. "The rest of you stay where you are, and don't let anyone down here until we give the all-clear."

Many of the soldiers looked reluctant to let their General fight without them, especially the Greatswords, but they had their orders. Shepard trusted Richter, through Michael, to keep everyone in line.

While Locke picked his men and Gotrek and Felix made their way to the front, Shepard headed to her own private quarters. They were large enough to hold Shepard's armor, weapons, and a few necessary items, but it was only made private because of her gender; Shepard recalled that many of the men had been adorably embarrassed when that point was made clear.

 _So much for the peace and quiet,_ she thought, then grimly picked up her hammer.

…

The river convoy traveled in tense silence. Retractable cowlings extended over the valuable supply ships, to protect them as much as possible, while teams of Dwarfs were stationed near every hatch, ready to rush out and defend the ships from boarders.

Shepard's team was stationed near one such hatch; Shepard would occasionally poke her head out into the open to get a look around, but could only see the imposing Worlds Edge Mountains. If there were enemies hiding in the shadows, they were doing a good job of it.

"Do you hear that?" Gotrek frowned. "Sounds like… get down!"

Shepard pulled the hatch shut just before a cloud of arrows impacted against the ironclad. From inside the ship, it sounded like a heavy rainfall, but the steel plating was too thick to cause any damage.

Then there was a grinding noise as the dozens of large cannons on the _Grimnir's Shout_ began to turn, aiming in the direction the arrows had come from. With a deafening bang, the cannons fired, as did those of the other warships. When Shepard opened the hatch again, hundreds of arrows littered the deck, while the mountains on their starboard side were dotted with black clouds of smoke.

"How d'you like that, uglies!?" Olg shouted, shaking his fist in the direction of the mountain.

 _I'm guessing they didn't like it at all,_ Shepard thought with grim amusement. Even if the cannons hadn't killed many Goblins, she knew from experience that being in even the general area of an artillery barrage would make most people stay away for a while. Still, the _Grimnir's Shout_ had certainly lived up to the name; Shepard's ears were still ringing.

"Incoming!" another Dwarf shouted from closer to the bow. "Goblins and Trolls, starboard side!"

"I see 'em!" Olg yelled back. "They're on the riverbank, headed for the _Stoneheart_!"

That was bad; _Stoneheart_ was the ship carrying many of the expedition's elite fighters, as well as Morgrim himself. Without the Lord, the entire expedition risked falling apart.

"Can we get close enough to help?" Shepard asked, running closer to Olg.

The Thane actually laughed. "The river's not wide enough to fit two ironclads next to each other. Besides, it's not as bad as you think."

As if to prove his point, the first wave of Goblins, still wading through the shallows, were cut down by grapeshot-filled swivel guns and disciplined ranks of Thunderer fire. The Trolls were more dangerous, able to regenerate wounds caused by the smaller cannons, but Morgrim had an answer for that as well. Ranks of Dwarfs, more heavily armored than any Shepard had ever seen—even their _beards_ were covered in plates of metal—aimed what looked like small cannons at the lumbering monsters. Fist-sized shells slammed into the Trolls and set them ablaze, the fire keeping them from regenerating; some were saved when they fell into the river, but many were quickly killed, and those that survived staggered away as fast as they could.

"Huh," Shepard said, surveying the carnage. "That was easy."

"That was just the first wave, lass," Olg said darkly. "If we don't get at least a score more before we get to Karak Eight Peaks, then I'll eat my helmet."

That was a little worrying; there had been over two thousand Goblins in that first attack, and if further waves were consistent… just how many Greenskins were there in this world?

"Hey, can we grab one of those bodies?" Shepard asked, pointing at the corpses that floated in the water.

"What for?" Olg asked back, his face scrunched up in distaste.

"I like to know what I'm fighting," Shepard said.

While the convoy spent a few minutes rallying from the attack, Olg had one of his crew throw a line around a dead Goblin and drag it aboard. The creature was small, a full head shorter than the average Dwarf, and much scrawnier. It had green skin and red eyes—well, eye; half of its head had been blown away by grapeshot—along with sharp teeth, a sharp, crooked nose, and pointed ears. It wore crude leather clothes, and an odd tattoo of a fish on its shoulder; that last detail was something Shepard passed on to Olg.

"Yeah, I recognize that sign," Olg spat. "They're called the Fish-Killa Tribe; my Clan hates 'em for ambushing convoys in this area. The ones killed today ain't gonna wipe away the grudge the Cragbrow have with 'em."

"Are they a major player in these parts?" Shepard asked.

Olg shrugged. "Not sure where they fit with other _grobi_ tribes, but they don't leave this area. Once we're past this mountain, they won't chase us. It'll be the other dozen tribes that'll be tryin' to kill us."

Shepard would have rubbed her temples if she wasn't wearing a helmet. "I'm starting to get why your people hate these guys."

"You've just seen the chaff," Olg said grimly. "They'll only get tougher and meaner."

"That figures," Shepard grumbled.

…

The attacks continued well into the night. Sometimes there would be seconds between each wave; other times, it would be hours. The convoy left thousands of bodies behind them, only sustaining a few dozen casualties, but it was grating on the nerves. Thankfully, the worst they had to endure were groups of Trolls, but the heavily armored Irondrakes took care of them; that, or enough gunfire worked just as well.

The worst part for Shepard was that she wasn't able to _do_ anything. She and her army were forced to sit on or in the ironclad, hiding from arrows or remaining on standby while the guns cleared out the attackers. It was torture for Shepard, who hated it when people fought when she couldn't. During one lull in the attacks, she mused that it was a good thing she had only traveled on ships back home; if she had been in command of a ship of the line, she'd wear out her chair from all the impatient tapping.

The Dwarfs, on the other hand, had taken the attacks with a mix of stoic endurance and grim excitement. They seemed to think that getting through these 'small' attacks in such good condition meant that they had a better chance of reaching Karak Eight Peaks with enough strength to make a difference. Considering the disasters that had plagued many other expeditions in the past, the Dwarfs were treating this first day of battle as a good omen.

Of course, that feeling vanished the next day when the convoy's progress was blocked by an avalanche. Huge boulders, piled almost as high as the tallest points of the ironclads, clogged the river, and scouts revealed that they went back almost half as deep as they went tall.

"Can we blow it up?" Shepard offered in a council of war with the other Dwarf leaders.

Skorri scowled at her, but answered. "Maybe, but it would take time. Only the lead ship can fire on it without hitting one of our own. Even if we do that, the rocks on the riverbed could do damage to our keels."

"We can't risk that," Morgrim said. "Send out teams to remove the stones, and have all our guns trained on either sides of the river. If something comes after us, I want our barrels to be the first things they see." He brooded for a moment. "Send out a few groups to scout out the area, just in case."

"If at all possible," Shepard said, "I'd like to be part of one of those teams. I know it would be too much trouble to send out some of my men, but I'm tired of sitting around and not doing anything."

Morgrim harrumphed. "Fine, but stay out of our way."

Shepard resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Were all Dwarfs this grumpy all the time? No wonder they lived underground.

…

"Why am I here?" Felix groaned as he trudged behind Shepard and Gotrek.

"Because you're not doing anything else," Shepard said, not even looking at him. "And because you can actually fight worth a damn, so you might as well do something useful."

"And besides," Gotrek added, "I'm going, and you swore an oath to follow me."

Felix sighed. "Right, right."

With most of the expedition either working on clearing away the boulders or manning the guns, only small teams were sent out to scout the base of the mountains. Shepard, Gotrek, and Felix were one such team, while others were made up of Dwarf Rangers who had tagged along for the expedition. There wasn't exactly a lot of room to explore; there were rugged hills that connected to the mountains, and clumps of trees at the river's edge. The scouting parties were only checking past the hills before returning; anything past that would likely be noticed by the gunners.

"You know, I never asked," Shepard said as they walked, "why _did_ you guys come along?"

"You're after something that could be in the hands of either the Goblins or the rats," Gotrek said with a grim smile. "If it's worth that much to you to go that far and fight so many, it must be a worthy cause."

 _And a chance for a worthy death,_ went unsaid, but from what Shepard knew about the Slayer from the books, that was what he was probably thinking. She still wasn't sure _why_ Gotrek and others like him went on these self-imposed death-quests, but from the way other Dwarfs avoided Gotrek and the Slayers that had joined the expedition, it was a sore subject. She glanced at Felix and noticed a thoughtful look on his face; maybe she'd broach the topic with him later.

Gotrek stopped so suddenly that Shepard almost tripped as she tried to do the same; Felix actually _did_ trip, but managed to recover before he hit the ground. Shepard was about to ask if something was wrong, but then she heard it; between her helmet's enchantments and her Cerberus upgrades, she easily picked up the heavy breathing and the shifting of something _big_ on stone.

With a loud yawn, the Giant stepped over the hill, and looked down on them with beady eyes. Shepard had read about Giants—they looked like oversized Humans that some races 'employed'; there was even one in Nuln that turned a massive cannon—but this was the first time she'd seen a wild one; it was… bigger than she'd expected. Easily fifty feet tall, this Giant was had rough slabs of stone tied to its forearms and shins with crude rope; its only other covering was a loincloth. In one hand was a tree that had been roughly shorn of branches and roots, which the Giant leaned against its shoulder as easily as Shepard would with her hammer.

The Giant blinked at them stupidly for a moment, then grinned with a mouth full of rotted teeth that were still bigger than Shepard's head. With a bellow, it prepared to swing with its club.

"Move!" Shepard wasn't sure who yelled, it could have even been her, but her feet obeyed. She sprinted to the side as the massive weapon slammed into the ground, making the entire hill shake.

With a Dwarf curse on his lips, Gotrek charged the Giant; his axe cut deep into its ankle, but the Giant was too stupid to notice the damage done to bone. It _did_ feel pain, however, and roared as it brought its club around for another strike. Before it could fully raise its arm, Shepard and Felix pounced on it; the former's hammer and the latter's sword tore a great gouge in the Giant's wrist, but it was simply too big to quickly stop.

Shepard noticed something large headed in her direction; on reflex, she pushed Felix out of the way, only to be scooped up in the Giant's other hand. Thankfully, the monster didn't have enough dexterity to get a good grip on her, so she was able to draw her pistol; when the Giant brought her up to its mouth to devour her, Shepard put five rounds into one of its eyes. _That_ caused it enough pain for it to scream, and dropped her to clap its free hand to its face.

Unfortunately, this meant that Shepard fell almost fifty feet, straight down.

"I've got you!"

There was an impact, but softer than what the ground would have been, and then Shepard's vision was a blur as her momentum sent both her and Felix rolling down the hill, back the way they came. When they finally stopped, they were in a tangled heap; if they hadn't been fighting an enormous monster, Shepard would have laughed when she saw that her armored fist was buried in Felix's cheek.

"I save you, and this is the thanks I get?" Felix complained, but he was unable to hide his joking smile.

"Come on," Shepard said, getting up. "We can't let Gotrek have all the fun."

Felix scoffed. "Please, if anything, we're spoiling _his_ fun."

As nice as the banter was, Shepard wasn't about to let one of hers—in her mind, any who fought alongside her was one of hers—fight alone. Running up the hill, she saw that Gotrek had hacked several more chunks from the Giant's leg, bringing it to one knee. Distracted by the Slayer, the Giant didn't see the two Humans until it was too late. Felix drove his sword into the Giant's belly and began opening it up, while Shepard climbed up the Giant's arm; she balanced on its shoulder, then smashed her hammer into its head over and over. It took several minutes, and more than once they were knocked aside, but they fought smart, while the Giant was a towering mass of dumb instinct. Eventually, the trio stood triumphant over the Giant's cooling corpse.

"Next time I see one of these things," Shepard said, breathing slightly heavier, "I want a dozen cannons aimed at its face."

"If only _I_ was that lucky," Felix replied. Gotrek only huffed.

"We should get back to the ships," Shepard said. "Morgrim will want to know about a Giant so close by." Giants weren't known to have crude armor unless they were in the employ of another race, so it was a good bet that this wasn't the only threat in the area.

"Wait, did you hear that?" Gotrek's grip on his bloodied axe tightened. "There's shooting."

Shepard nodded; she could hear the sound of handguns and the swivel guns going off, but none of the large cannons were firing. It was likely that something had snuck up on the convoy and had gotten close enough to be inside the big guns' firing arcs.

"Time to save the day," Felix said with false cheer. "Again."

The three of them ran back to the ships, and discovered what the problem was. Hundreds of Goblins had burst from a tunnel in the leftmost mountain and boarded _Oathbearer_ , the ship responsible for carrying most of the convoy's supplies. Dozens of Goblins died from falling down the side of the mountain, and many more died from accurate gunfire, but there were plenty that made it onto the deck of the ship. Dwarfs were fighting back, but they were horribly outnumbered, though more fighters from other ships were scrambling to join the _Oathbearer_ 's crew in the defense.

Shepard was determined to be among them. Without even consulting Gotrek and Felix, she dashed for the _Grimnir's Shout_ , sprinting up the boarding ramp and waving for Locke and his men to join her. With a score of nobles, a poet and a Dwarf Slayer, Shepard maneuvered a large plank to rest between their ship and the _Oathbearer_ ; with both Dwarfs and Goblins occupied, no one noticed Shepard's force board the starboard side. Their presence was announced when Locke and his men unleashed a fusillade into the Goblins' flank, and while it didn't reduce their numbers by much, it threw some of them into confusion. With Locke's men and a regiment of Thunderers covering them, Shepard, Gotrek and Felix charged.

Felix was a mix of desperation and a grace born of years of experience, his sword cleaving Goblins in half or separating them from limbs. Shepard was furious efficiency, not wasting any more energy than necessary to kill a greenskin before moving onto another. Gotrek, however, was a whirlwind of death, his axe cleaving the tightly-packed Goblins with ease; in fact, if Shepard hadn't heard him shouting in anger as he slaughtered the little monsters, she would have thought he was bored.

A team of Dwarfs who had been working on clearing the way was diverted to the tunnel the Goblins had come from and closed it with some well-placed explosives, preventing another wave from coming. With their reinforcements cut off and more Dwarfs joining the battle every moment, the Goblins soon began to break and run. The defenders let them go, knowing that they would soon be on their way, and any enemies ahead probably already knew they were coming.

"Well _that_ was annoying," Shepard said, once the fighting was over.

"And we'll probably face attacks like that many more times before we reach Karak Eight Peaks," grumbled an older Dwarf—a Longbeard, if Shepard recalled the term correctly—as he cleaned Goblin blood off his axe.

Shepard would have commented about how pessimistic the Dwarfs were being, but then remembered that they were heading to a place that had been in enemy hands for over two thousand years. Compared to that, the Quarians had had no right to complain about getting kicked off Rannoch; the Dwarfs had every reason to be so grim.

"Well, the ship was saved, and so were the supplies," Shepard said, trying to brighten the mood. "At the very least, that means we'll last a bit longer."

The Longbeard harrumphed, but didn't offer any other response. Shepard took that as a point in her favor, and then gathered up her force and headed back to the _Grimnir's Shout_. The day wasn't over, and Shepard was determined to get a bit of rest before something else happened.

…

After a few more hours, the river was cleared and the convoy resumed moving. They weren't stopped again, but the occasional band of Goblins would poke out from caves, only to get blown apart by cannon fire. A few times, crude catapults would launch boulders, but the rune-struck hulls of the ironclads survived without anything more than small dents.

That wasn't to say that the Dwarfs came out completely unscathed; at least several of them died in each attack, and the bodies were placed in rune-covered chambers that would preserve them until they could be given proper burials in Barak Varr.

Still, Shepard didn't fail to notice that though attacks were getting fewer over the next two days, the tactics used were becoming more efficient the closer they got to Karak Eight Peaks. The last attack, less than an hour after coming within sight of their destination, involved a dozen catapults covering the advance of dozens of Trolls and thousands of Goblins. Only Gettmann's timely warning a few hours beforehand kept the convoy from being caught by surprise. While the ironclads' cannons blew apart great holes in the enemy army, a flight of stubby Gyrocopters took off from retractable launch bays within the _Stoneheart_ , flying over the Goblins' heads and destroying the catapults. Without the crude war machines threatening them, Dwarfs came out from cover and routed the enemy army.

"These ones were being led by the Crooked Moon," Morgrim said during a meeting with the other leaders; to emphasize his statement, he tossed a primitive banner, taken from the refuse after the battle, onto the table. The banner depicted a crescent moon with a snarling face.

"So we're already fighting _grobi_ from Eight Peaks?" Olg asked.

Morgrim shook his head. "These ones were just pushing around the outlying tribes. Still, that means that the greens probably know where we're going now."

Shepard glared at the banner. She had heard the stories of the Crooked Moon Tribe, the Night Goblins that owned the majority of Karak Eight Peaks. Their leader, known as Skarsnik, was abnormally smart for one of his kind, able to organize complex maneuvers and long-term strategies. The closer they got to Karak Eight Peaks, the more they'd be on the receiving end of those strategies.

"General," Morgrim looked her in the eye. "Tell your men to not leave their quarters at night. That's when the Night Goblins are most dangerous."

"Got it," Shepard said. "If it's all the same to you, Olg, I'll have rotating watches around the entrances to our section of the ship, just in case."

Olg nodded; he had told Shepard about the sub-group of Goblins that almost exclusively operated underground or at night. Night Goblins were crueler than their cousins, and far more vicious; Shepard had heard a few horror stories from Dwarf veterans about what a mushroom-fueled Night Goblin was capable of.

"From now on, we stay on full alert," Morgrim said. "Anyone who's not making the ships work will be ready to disembark immediately. We'll be reaching the base of the mountain tomorrow morning, so the quicker we get everyone off, the quicker our ships can get to safer waters."

With the meeting over, Shepard followed after Olg; grimly, she noted that this had been the _easy_ part of the trip so far. After being attacked by monsters and thousands of Goblins, what did the Dwarfs count as a challenge?

…

Despite the cramped nature of the ironclads, Shepard was able to find a quiet corner to herself; she spent some time thinking about what would happen the next morning, and how she was going to organize her army. She only hoped that they wouldn't be ambushed when they were in the middle of disembarking, when they were most vulnerable; at least if they were, the convoy's guns would be covering them.

With her mind occupied with logistics and what-ifs, she didn't notice Felix standing next to her until he loudly coughed into his hand.

"Gah!" Shepard glared at him. "Would it kill you to be a little more noticeable when you walk or something?"

Felix shrugged. "Bad habit. When fighting all kinds of things with sharper senses than me, I've learned to be quiet."

"Yeah, I'll bet," Shepard muttered. "Those books don't do you and Gotrek justice."

Now it was Felix's turn to scowl. "Yes, I believe my brother edited my writings to make them a little more believable."

Shepard gave him a blank look. "Have you even _read_ the books? _Nothing_ you do is believable."

"Don't let Gotrek hear you say that," Felix warned. "Calling a Dwarf's honor into question will make said Dwarf kill you."

"Noted." Shepard paused, then went for the direct approach. "So, what's the deal with Gotrek and the other Slayers? Why are they all, um, well… crazy?"

Felix's eyes went wide as he frantically checked to make sure that no Dwarf overheard Shepard's comment. "Look, I'll give you the short version. Dwarfs take oaths and honor _very_ seriously. If one of them breaks an oath or something very bad happens to them… something snaps inside. They take a vow to reclaim their honor by finding the mightiest death possible; if the first thing they find can't kill them, they have to find something stronger. And the only things they can take with them are their weapons. They leave behind everything else—even their families consider them dead until news of their death comes back."

Shepard listened with horrified fascination. She knew that the Dwarfs were very strict, but she had no idea that losing their honor, even if it was only perceived, could make them go on some suicidal death-quest. There were nearly a hundred Slayers tagging along with the convoy; what with all the tragedies that had befallen their race, how many other Dwarfs had taken the Slayer Oath?

She then realized something of a more immediate concern. "And you're following Gotrek around to record his death?"

Felix grimaced. "I made an oath to record his deeds. I've been tempted to leave, but… well, I _am_ a criminal in the Empire, even if no one tries to bring me in on it. I don't really have anywhere else to go."

"Remind me about that when this is over, assuming we both survive," Shepard said on an impulse. "I happen to be friends with the Emperor and the Reiksmarshal; getting you pardoned shouldn't be too hard."

"Really?" Felix blinked. "You'd do that?"

"Well, you _did_ save my life," Shepard said with a coy smile. "Or at least kept me from getting some nasty bruises. It's the least I can do."

Felix gave her a roguish grin. "I would have thought saving your life from a monster would be enough to sweep you off your feet."

"Ha!" Shepard lightly punched him on the arm. "Buddy, I've been saved from things a lot worse than a Giant, and none of those people ever swept me off my feet. The best they ever got was a free beer and a pay raise."

Not for lack of trying on Shepard's part, at least. During the hunt for Saren, every single one of Shepard's team had saved her life during one fight or another, and though she'd done the same for all of them, the Alliance had never seen fit to give any of them a bonus or some extra reward.

"Well, if I hope to win your heart, General, I suppose I'll _have_ to stick around," Felix said, "if only so that I can truly impress you."

"If there's something in Eight Peaks that scares me enough that you impress me if you kill it," Shepard said, only half joking, "then we're in really deep shit." With that, she patted him on the shoulder. "Get some sleep, Felix; we've got a long day ahead of us."

"Ah, yes, climbing a mountain." Felix shook his head with exaggerated despair. "I can't wait."

"I know, isn't it going to be great?" Shepard's grin threatened to turn into mad laughter when Felix shuddered.

The poet might not have been a good soldier, but at least he was good for entertainment.

…

Shepard stared; the mountains she had seen before had been huge, easily bigger than anything back home, but these… if Shepard hadn't been to space, she would have said that the Eight Peaks touched the edge of the sky itself.

The mountains weren't the only thing that was impressive. For the first time, Shepard had a full view of the Dwarf throng as it assembled on the shore. There were thousands of Dwarfs, each covered in heavy armor and carrying weapons that made even the most ornate Imperial blade look shoddy in comparison. Dozens of war machines—Cannons, four-barreled Organ Guns, hissing Flame Cannons, and more primitive Bolt Throwers and the catapults known as Grudge Throwers—were lined up behind them, while squadrons of Gyrocopters buzzed around above. At the very front of the army, Morgrim watched as his warriors finished gathering, while regiments of Longbeards, Ironbreakers, and Irondrakes formed the vanguard. The only groups not part of the main Dwarf host were groups of Rangers, who were preparing to scout ahead, and the Slayers, who stood in a loose formation.

The Imperial troops, though not nearly as numerous as their allies, did their best to measure up to the Dwarfs' majesty. Every man's armor was polished, and each weapon was held in ready hands. The crews of the artillery were just finishing up their final checks, but Shepard was sure that everything would be kept up to standard. With their horses now free of confinement, Locke and his men rode wide circles around the army, practicing maneuvers to protect the army's flank, or attack an enemy's. Michael was leading his Swordsmen in prayer, but he spared a glance in Shepard's direction to nod, signaling that they were ready. Near the rear, Parral and Gettmann were having a scholarly debate, one of many they'd had since the journey began, though Shepard had yet to understand most of the terms they used. Finally, Shepard's gaze landed on Richter; with his feet on solid ground, all traces of seasickness had vanished, and he was practically bouncing up and down in his eagerness to get going.

"It looks like they're finishing up," Felix noted, not too far from Shepard's position.

Shepard's eyes went back to the Dwarfs and saw that the last of them were coming down the ironclads' ramps. She waved at Olg, who would be returning to open waters with the rest of the convoy; once the Imperials had what they were after, they would send a message via Gyrocopter to Barak Varr, then make their way back to the river, where the _Grimnir's Shout_ would hopefully be waiting to take them back to friendly territory.

"General Shepard." Shepard turned to see Morgrim walking up to her. "Are your troops prepared?"

Shepard nodded, then put her helmet on. "As we'll ever be. Let's get marching."

Morgrim huffed, then raised his voice to a gruff shout, addressing both armies. "Move out! We go to Karak Eight Peaks!"

 **Well, the traveling part is almost over. It's about time we got to the main event, or at least the arena to it. Now, for those who think that the fighting was a little one-sided, I've read stories about how Dwarf ironclads wiped out whole Orc tribes with only one or two volleys. This convoy not only has big guns, but many Dwarfs who are happy to fight. Plus, they're mostly fighting Goblins, and those little buggers suck. They're kind of like Yoda, only stupid, mean, and terrible at fighting.**

 **So, other than being green and having pointed ears, not like Yoda at all.**

 **And Gotrek and Felix eat Giants for breakfast. With Shepard on the team, they are the Jerry to the Tom that is the Giant.**

 **Anyway, this is the last time you'll see anything resembling a curb-stomp battle; with a certain Warlord of the Eight Peaks—plus a certain red-armored Skaven—entering the picture soon, things are going to get… messy.**

 **Next Chapter: Attack on the Eight Peaks! Shepard and her allies race to aid King Ironhammer, but they first have to match wits and might with both the Night Goblins and the Skaven!**

 **Dragon Slayers, Daemon Slayers, and the greatest of them all: Muffin Slayers.**


	11. War of the Peaks, Part 4

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. READY YOUR AXES, BOYS AND GIRLS, IT'S TIME TO CROSS OUT SOME GRUDGES!**

 **If it hasn't become abundantly clear by now, I love the Dwarfs. Those little bearded bastards are my favorite faction in Warhammer, and I'm tired of them getting shit on all the time. Their last army book said that things were starting to go their way, and then Age of Stupid—I mean, Sigmar—happened, and all that went down the crapper. This is why I like fan fiction.**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 11

War of the Peaks, Part 4

" _I've got mixed feelings about mountains. They can represent strength and endurance. Just getting to the top is an accomplishment. The problem, though, is that now you've got a long way to fall."—General Alexia Shepard_

…

"Shields up!" Shepard yelled, angling her arm up and bracing her legs just as a trio of arrows thudded into her shield. All around her, those of her soldiers that had shields used them to protect themselves and those who didn't have them from ill-timed barrages of arrows.

Shepard lowered her shield, then waved her hammer in a tight circle over her head. "Fire!"

Handgunners stepped out from behind their defenders and fired back at the Goblins who had been perched on a cliff nearby. Those that weren't killed scattered and ran. Shepard scowled when she saw that several of her men had died from the arrows; nearly fifty soldiers had been killed since the march to Karak Eight Peaks began, and the Imperial force was getting the _easy_ part of things. According to the last update from the Dwarf throng, nearly two hundred were dead. If the estimates were right, almost four thousand Goblins had attacked them so far.

And it was only the third day of the march.

Shepard's army had been placed in the rear of the column, keeping the valuable supplies—many of which were meant for the Dwarfs fighting within Karak Eight Peaks, not just their reinforcements—between them and the Dwarfs. The matter of supplies wasn't the only reason for the Humans' position; they simply weren't built for marching through the mountains without rest, so they couldn't be put in front, where they might slow down the entire army. With the Dwarfs leading the march at their slower pace—not that they'd admit it—the Humans were able to get short breaks that allowed them to keep up.

So far, progress had been slow; ambushes by Goblin archers forced the armies to move cautiously, and it was estimated that it would take them another five days to reach their destination. Two Gyrocopters had been sent south to find the army from Karak Azul; the hope was that they would be able to coordinate a simultaneous strike from both north and south, but it would be tricky.

Shepard had once read that many wars on Earth could have gone very differently if one side had had simple radio communication. She started to appreciate the concept now.

"Get the wounded to Parral," she ordered the nearest regiment, then felt a bitter taste in her mouth as she prepared her next command. "Gather up the armor and weapons of the dead, and give me their names. We have to leave the bodies behind."

The men nodded grimly and set about their task. Without a means of preserving the corpses, dragging the dead along with them was an unneeded liability. The best they could do was make sure that there was nothing for the Goblins or Skaven to scavenge. The Dwarfs did the same, though oaths were sworn to take dozens of Goblin heads for every one of their dead.

"This was never going to be easy, General," Felix said softly as he and Gotrek walked up to Shepard.

"Why do they do it?" Shepard asked. "Why do the Goblins and Skaven want to kill us all so badly?"

Gotrek spat off to the side. "That's the kind of wondering that'll drive you mad. The _grobi_ and the rats have hated my people since the beginning of time; they both see themselves as the greater race, and they see everything else as prey. Asking why an Orc fights is like asking why we need to breathe—it's in our nature."

"A race that just wants to fight and kill." Shepard shook her head. "What a waste of life."

"Yes, if only people were more civilized," Felix said, crossing his arms. "Like the Beastmen, or the Dark Elves, or, I don't know, _almost everything else in the world_." He scowled. "If it's not the Goblins or the Skaven, there will always be something, General, that wants to kill us in very painful ways."

"Thanks, Felix, I really needed to be cheered up," Shepard said, her sarcasm so blatant that she was surprised she didn't hurt herself. _As if I didn't need more motivation to go home; with the Reapers gone, things should be relatively peaceful. At least, I_ hope _the Reapers are gone._

With those dark thoughts, Shepard turned and resumed marching.

…

Deep in the bowels of Karak Eight Peaks, a Goblin was mad. That wasn't uncommon, as Night Goblins are notoriously more prone to violence than most of their kind. However, this particular Night Goblin was angry for a reason far more important than because someone stole his fungus beer.

Skarsnik, self-proclaimed Warlord of the Eight Peaks, hated when things didn't go according to plan, and he had been dealing with that a lot over the last few years.

Getting the countless greenskins in the area to fight under his banner was a constant challenge; Orcs and Goblins were anarchical at the best of times, and making them perform strategies more complex than 'run at the enemy screaming' required Skarsnik to bash in more than a few heads. He was convinced that if his armies were more like him, he'd have conquered all of the Worlds Edge Mountains by now.

The second problem was the Skaven. Though Skarsnik could outthink the rat-people even on his worst day, they were as numerous as the Goblins, and he could never be sure if he would be fighting their assassins, poisonous gases, weird lightning weapons, or their strange magic. Sometimes he would have to deal with all of that at once. Still, he'd managed to reduce them to a nuisance, at least until a few years ago, when the Skaven called Queek Headtaker arrived on the scene. He kept the Skaven organized—to an extent, anyway—and, more importantly, he made them aggressive. Skarsnik couldn't send entire armies running with just a few well-timed assaults any longer; more than once, he would have to spend time killing most of the Skaven, or worse, retreat.

And then there were the Dwarfs, led by King Belegar Ironhammer. The wily Dwarf was almost as cunning at underground warfare as Skarsnik and Queek, and more stubborn than both of them combined. Over the years, the Dwarfs had led sorties from the aboveground Citadel, slowly pushing into the lower depths of Karak Eight Peaks. Normally, Skarsnik would just wear the Dwarfs down with endless waves of Goblins, but the rest of the 'stunties' kept sending reinforcements, and though the Goblins or Skaven would repulse many of these expeditions, enough made it through to fuel the Dwarf invasion.

Finally, to make matters worse, he'd gotten word that not only were _two_ large Dwarf armies headed to Karak Eight Peaks, one of them had a large group of Humans with them!

 _What're the humies doin' 'ere?_ Skarsnik thought as he savagely chewed on a rat. No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't understand why an army of Humans would travel so far, especially when they had no stake in these mountains.

"Bah, whatever," he snarled, then tossed the remains of the rat to the corner of his mushroom-filled chambers. The carcass was quickly devoured by a huge mass of red muscle and teeth; Gobbla, the Cave Squig that was Skarsnik's closest companion, looked at him expectantly.

"Don't worry, Gobbla, yer gonna get more," Skarsnik promised. "I know how ya like rat meat." Then his eyes went wide as he got an idea. "Rat meat… heh, 'bout time dat Queek did somethin' useful fer me."

…

Another five days passed. For the first three days of that time, the Dwarf and Imperial armies were attacked relentlessly by Goblins, along with the occasional band of Orcs, a handful of Trolls, and in one memorable case, a trio of Giants that required nearly a score of cannonballs to bring down. Shepard's army only suffered a few losses during that time, but the Dwarfs lost another five hundred fighters, and several hundred more were hurt. Still, their force was relatively intact, and the attitude was cautiously optimistic; perhaps they would make it to Karak Eight Peaks with enough strength to make a difference!

All that changed when the attacks mysteriously stopped. For two days, not a single Goblin, Orc, or other nasty thing was seen, and the only noises were those of stamping feet, shifting armor, grumbling from both Dwarf and Human alike, and the howling wind.

"What are they waiting for?" Shepard asked as the two armies made camp; since they were only a day away from Karak Eight Peaks, it was decided to let everyone get a good night's sleep, and no one knew when they'd get another chance.

"Could be something going on that we don't know about," Morgrim said, then took a long drink of ale. "The Skaven are always fighting the greens around here, so maybe the _grobi_ think they're more of a threat than we are."

Shepard mulled that thought over for a moment. "Maybe, but maybe they're attacking King Ironhammer's forces with everything they have, trying to take them out before we get there. If we don't have a foothold, we might as well turn around now."

 _And I might as well get used to living here,_ she thought glumly.

"Or it could be something else entirely," Felix offered. "Greenskin hierarchy is a lot like that of Skaven—you take out the leader, everything falls apart. Maybe Skarsnik is dead, and no one is keeping things organized."

Morgrim smiled wryly. "I'll pledge my eternal loyalty to any of ours that manages to kill that little bugger. He's been squatting in Dwarf lands for far too long."

"That reminds me," Shepard said, "what exactly is the plan after Karak Eight Peaks is retaken? I'm guessing your people won't just stop there."

Morgrim nodded. "It'll take time, but if we can retake Eight Peaks, retaking Karak Drazh would be the next step. It would connect the southern holds with Karaz-a-Karak for the first time in ages."

"And if our allies are strong, that will only do good things for the Empire," Richter said, not looking up from his food.

"I don't think anyone will complain about us making each other stronger," Shepard said, then smiled. "Well, anyone we fight might complain, but who cares?"

"That's all just wishful thinking right now," Morgrim reminded them. "First, we need to win at Karak Eight Peaks, and that's no easy task."

Shepard nodded, her mood dampening somewhat. She was about to continue eating when a robed figure sat down next to her.

"Good evening, General," Gettmann said, his face still looking as if he'd just woken up. "And to you all."

Morgrim and the handful of nearby Dwarfs either scowled or ignored the Wizard—Shepard had learned that Dwarfs had an innate distrust of magic, and especially Wizards—but the Humans gave him warm smiles. During the ride on the ironclads and the march across the mountain paths, Gettmann had sensed danger, and his warnings had allowed them all to prepare for attacks that would have otherwise caught them by surprise. That had earned him respect from many of the Imperials, and even if Shepard didn't like his aloof attitude, she appreciated what he did for them.

The only other problem she still had with him was that he only spoke to them when he had something important to say.

"Please tell me we're not about to be attacked again," Shepard said, reaching for her hammer.

Gettmann's smile grew as he shook his head. "No, General, we are not in danger at the moment. However, I believe that we will not face Goblins tomorrow." He stared at the crackling campfire. "When I read the stars, I see hordes of rats. In my dreams, I hear them chittering in my ears."

"Skaven, then." Shepard looked at Morgrim. "I thought the Goblins had the outer edges of Karak Eight Peaks covered, not the Skaven."

"It could explain why we haven't seen the _grobi_ for the past few days," Morgrim said, still not looking at Gettmann. "Maybe the rats turned the tide, and the Goblins had to go on the defensive."

Shepard made a noise that sounded like an agreement, then patted Gettmann on the shoulder. "Let us know if you get anything else from the great beyond."

Gettmann was silent for a moment, then turned away from the fire to look her in the eye. "There is one more thing. The shard we seek still shines brightly. I do not believe that either of our enemies have it, or even know it exists."

"Let's hope it stays that way," Shepard said, then stood up. "If there's nothing else, boys, I'm going to sleep, and I suggest you all do the same."

Felix rolled his eyes. "Yes, _mother_ —ouch!"

Richter pulled his hand back after slapping the poet upside the head. "Be polite to the General."

Shepard laughed. "See, Felix? It pays to have friends."

Felix only scowled, but there was no heat behind it. Everyone else, even Gettmann and the grim Dwarfs, chuckled or looked amused. As Shepard headed to her tent, she looked at the groups of Dwarfs and Humans talking, sharing stories, and even laughing. She wasn't sure if it was actual friendship or just knowing that they would all be facing the same foe tomorrow, but it was still a good sign. Morbidly, she wondered if it was because many of them might not be around to laugh after tomorrow's battle.

Before she went to sleep, Shepard swore to make sure that there would be a reason to celebrate, even if she had to do everything herself.

…

"Move, stupid-fools! Great-mighty Queek Headtaker wants more fighters at enter-place!"

Hordes of Skaven scurried to obey their master; not many of them had any real desire to fight on the surface, but they feared the wrath of Queek Headtaker far more.

The infamous Warlord was not actually coming to the site of the ambush; he was busy fighting the Goblins in the tunnels. Still, when an assassin overheard several higher-ranking Goblins discussing an army of beard-things and man-things headed for the northern entrance to Karak Eight Peaks, Queek had sent one of his lieutenants and a vast army of Skaven to ambush them.

Tikk Clawscratch was only slightly bigger than the average Skaven, and his armor was nowhere near as impressive as Queek's, but he made up for his less intimidating appearance with a pair of barbed swords and a cruelty that even a Night Goblin would envy. He had earned his position by way of killing the previous lieutenant, but not showing any desire to actually replace Queek—he knew that was suicide.

What would have been just as suicidal, though, would be to try and dislodge the Goblins that camped out at the northern entrance. It wouldn't have been the first time the Skaven had attempted to claim that area, but the Goblins were dug in, and could rain arrows on any approaching enemies. However, in his great cleverness, Queek had launched dozens of attacks on the Goblins underground, forcing Skarsnik to recall his forces from the surface or risk being overrun. With the northern entrance now free of the hated Goblins, Tikk and his forces were sent to replace them; they would wipe out the Dwarfs and Humans, strip them down to the bones, and bring back the spoils.

Like all Skaven, Tikk considered taking the spoils all for himself—or at least the choicest picks—but fear of what Queek would do to him made him pause. He decided that it would be wiser to take a few smaller prizes, ones that could be easily hidden, and give Queek the lion's share.

Tikk lashed out at a Clanrat that got too close, knocking him over. While his fellows quickly killed and devoured the hapless Skaven, Tikk glanced at the imposing Citadel, not far from their position. It was possible that the Dwarfs based there would attack from behind during the ambush, but Tikk, who kept an ear out for that sort of thing, had heard that they were busy dealing with another Skaven attack, because Queek had anticipated that kind of thing. There was the southern approach as well, but it was much too far away for any danger to reach Tikk, at least before he could escape.

"Wait-watching for you, beard-things," Tikk hissed. "Tikk will watch-see you die!"

…

"Looks like your Wizard was right," Morgrim grumbled. "We're fighting the rats after all."

"Yeah…" Shepard squinted as the sun began to set; in the distance, she could see a roiling mass of rag-covered fur. "I just wish he'd told us that there was that fucking many of them!"

Rested and ready, the Dwarfs and Humans marched to the northern passage that led into the heart of Karak Eight Peaks, under what the Dwarfs called—in a poor choice, in Shepard's opinion—Death's Crossing. There, leading into the basin that linked the mountains that gave Karak Eight Peaks its name, were thousands upon thousands of Skaven.

The first group was clad in rotted scraps of cloth and armed with little more than daggers; these were the Skavenslaves, the lowest of the low in Skaven society. They weren't much of a threat, unless a dozen of them attacked a single target at once, but their purpose was to soak up bullets and arrows, as well as wear down the enemy through sheer numbers. Once the slaves were wiped out or had fled, the Clanrats would attack; they were slightly better than Skavenslaves, but again, they relied on numbers instead of skill.

That was only what Shepard could see, though; it was very likely that many more dangerous things were behind the first lines.

"What's our plan?" Shepard asked; when it came to fighting Skaven, Goblins, or in the mountains, she deferred to the Dwarfs' expertise.

Morgrim studied the enemy position for a moment. "We'll set up our artillery on the low ridges, along with our gunners; that'll keep the rats' heads down while I lead my best fighters into their ranks. We'll push through and open a path for your army; I want you to keep going, then circle around and hit them from behind. By the time you reposition, the rest of my lads will be hitting them from the front."

"And we'll crush them between us," Shepard finished. She liked the idea, but it was risky for both the Dwarfs and Humans.

"We'll have to be fast," Morgrim said. "If we slog it out, more of them will come to bog us down, and we'll never get past. We need to start fortifying our hold on the entrance as soon as it's ours."

Shepard glanced back, where Skorri and a dozen lesser engineers were gathering tools and supplies. "That's what they're for?"

"Exactly." Morgrim chewed on his bearded lip for a moment. "I'll have my Gyrocopters cover you from above. That should give you some room to breathe."

Shepard smiled gratefully. "Thanks."

"Well, your cannons and gunners are covering my advance," Morgrim pointed out. "It's only fair."

Shepard nodded. "Let's get to work."

Morgrim went to finish his army's organization, while Shepard explained the plan to her officers, a group that also included half the Sergeants, who would pass the orders on to others. Of the senior officers, only Michael was absent; he was leading prayers just before the battle, but Richter would inform him of anything he needed to know.

"This seems risky, General," Richter said; the only sign of anxiety from him was a tighter grip on his sword.

"It's bold, it's audacious, and it could mean the success or failure of the entire battle." Locke grinned. "It will be glorious!"

"Glad to hear it, because you're leading our charge," Shepard told him. "You and your cavalry need to give the rest of us room to spread out. Don't get killed."

While Locke sputtered, Shepard felt a hand tap her arm and saw Gotrek and Felix behind her.

"What about us, General?" Felix, who had tapped her, asked. "We're not exactly part of your strategy."

Shepard nodded, conceding the point. "You two can join up with me and Richter's men. We'll be getting in the thick of it, which I assume you're happy with, Gotrek?"

"Absolutely," the Slayer replied.

"I'm not," Felix muttered.

"Too bad, now shut up," Shepard said, with just a hint of teasing, then addressed the others. "Anyone want to add anything?"

"General, I would request that I and the other Jade Wizards be placed among the men," Parral said. "Our magic will keep more alive if we are on the field than if we wait for the battle to be over."

Shepard nodded; normally she would be reluctant to place her healers in the thick of it, but with so many enemies all around, the healing magic would be far more valuable. Besides, they had healed enough men for the soldiers to welcome their presence.

"Gettmann, I want you with the artillery," Shepard said. "If you can manage it, try to soften the Skaven up a bit."

"I will do my best, General," Gettmann said with a short bow.

Shepard looked each man present in the eye. "I know this is risky, but we really don't have a choice anymore. If we're going to accomplish our mission, we need the Dwarfs, and if we're going to get their help, we need to help _them_ win. Besides, we're allies, and I'm not one to turn my back on alliances. So today, we either win, or we die, and I don't plan on dying." The officers, Wizards, and comrades began to nod, and Shepard grinned. "Let's send these bastards to hell. Who's with me?"

The officers cheered, and Shepard dismissed them all to finish preparations. Before she walked off, Gettmann stopped her.

"General, there is one more thing I must caution you about," he said. "I have been looking at the signs once again, and I have seen something regarding you."

Shepard arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"It was not… very clear," Gettmann admitted. "However, there were signs that you would be in danger. Beware of teeth. That is all I know."

"Teeth?" Shepard blinked. "Okay… I'll keep it in mind."

As the Wizard walked away, Shepard grimaced. _The Skaven have lots of teeth. Am I supposed to be scared of every single one of them? I hate it when people are vague._

Pushing the warning aside for now, Shepard put on her helmet and readied herself. She would deal with whatever danger came her way, but for now, she had a battle to fight.

…

The sun was almost behind the mountains when the Skaven were attacked. Dozens of cannonballs, bolts the size of a man, and chunks of rock obliterated hundreds of Skaven in a single barrage. As devastating as the attack was, only a small fraction of the rat-men were killed. Skavenslaves were roughly shoved in the direction of the Dwarfs, now seen advancing down the path, while Clanrats were a short distance behind them. In the very back, Tikk Clawscratch readied his more potent assets.

The first wave of Skavenslaves was just beginning their charge when Handgunners, Thunderers, and crossbow-wielding Quarrelers opened fire. The bullets and arrows killed ranks of Skaven, and more than a few turned tail and ran, only to be butchered by the Clanrats behind them. Still, nearly two thousand Skavenslaves crashed into the Dwarf line.

It wasn't enough; Morgrim had picked the finest of his fighters to lead the advance, and the Skaven were met with impervious lines of gromril—an extremely durable metal that was coveted by Dwarfs—and shields, held by Ironbreakers. Swinging hammers and axes, the Ironbreakers swept aside the Skavenslaves with ease. Pushed back by the Dwarfs, the Skaven not in arm's reach were blasted apart by the ranks of Irondrakes that stood behind their brethren. Though each Dwarf in the front rank was outnumbered five to one, they were a united, unbreakable machine; in minutes, the last of the Skavenslaves were dead or running away.

The first round had gone to the Dwarfs, but it was just a warm-up.

Hordes of Clanrats were seconds behind the Skavenslaves, and though some were brought down by another barrage of bullets and arrows, the Dwarfs had plenty to deal with. Once again, axes and hammers rose and fell, and the ground became drenched in blood.

The Dwarfs weren't simply withstanding the charges, however. For every strike they made, the Ironbreakers would take a single step forward; Skaven were packed together as they tried to halt the grinding advance, but the Dwarfs refused to give up ground. In the back, the ranged units continued to pepper the rear ranks of Clanrats, as did the artillery. With dead bodies behind them and impenetrable defenses in front, many Skaven were simply crushed, but they had the numbers to afford it. Eventually, even the implacable Dwarfs would tire, make a mistake, and then the Skaven would roll over them. Already, Ironbreakers were starting to die.

And then clouds gathered overhead; an instant later, a massive bolt of lightning struck the center of the Skaven hordes, blasting apart dozens, stunning many more, and sending some into a panicked retreat. In the back of the army, Gettmann leaned on his staff; he was tired, but his usual sleepy smile had a satisfied edge to it.

With the Skaven in disarray, the time came for the true offensive. The Dwarf line split down the middle, allowing a line of Pistoliers and Outriders to charge; guns blazing and horses kicking about, the cavalry drove deep into the Skaven, then fought their way out through the left flank.

Shepard led the next charge, her hammer turning a Skaven skull to mush as the infantry poured out from the Dwarf lines. Spearmen herded Skaven into smaller groups, where they were slaughtered by Halberdiers who swung their weapons in wide arcs. Swordsmen unbalanced Clanrats by hitting them with their shields, then finished them off with their blades. In particular, Michael and his 'flock' were terrifying avengers; more Skaven fled their furious onslaught than any other unit. Alongside Shepard, Richter and the Greatswords became like threshers, killing Skaven by the dozen, while Gotrek and Felix took on rat-men with ease. Flying over the fighting, a flight of Gyrocopters dropped small bombs into the Skaven, strafed them with fiery Brimstone Guns, or swooped in low to wipe out large groups with steam guns.

The Skaven might have still overrun the massively outnumbered Humans, had it not been for the Slayers. Though their number was small, barely two hundred in total, they were some of the best fighters in the army. Like Gotrek, their hair was shaped in a great crest, and their hair and beards were dyed orange; they carried only their axes and wore trousers, disregarding any attempt at defense. Uncaring of wounds they suffered, the Slayers drove even deeper into the Skaven hordes, slaughtering them in droves as they tried to find a worthy death. Some died from lucky blows, and others fell after being literally buried in Skaven bodies, but most fought on. With the Imperials backing them up, the Clanrat waves were shattered.

But just because they were gone didn't mean the same for the rest of the Skaven.

"What in Sigmar's name are those abominations!?" Michael pointed his gore-covered hammer deeper into the pass.

Shepard saw what was headed towards them, and her eyes went wide. A long line of monstrous _things_ loped towards them; each was easily twice the size of a man, with the head of a rat and bulging with muscles. Most had pieces of machinery bursting out from their flesh, but if they felt pain, they didn't show it.

"Rat Ogres," Gotrek spat. "I hate these things."

"At least they're not like the ones Thanquol used," Felix pointed out.

Shepard was waving her troops to reorganize while the Dwarf army marched to catch up, though she wondered who this 'Thanquol' was. Maybe he was a character in a book she hadn't read yet. With her helmet on and the sound of shouting and stamping feet ringing out, no one heard her giggle.

 _I'm in the middle of a war and I'm worried about spoilers,_ she thought.

Then she was back in the present, and she noticed that the Slayers were gone, already charging to meet the Rat Ogres.

"What the hell are they doing?" Shepard demanded. "They're going to get killed… oh."

That was the point, she realized. The Slayers' purpose was to find a worthy death, and what better than to buy time for their allies by fighting giant monsters?

Shepard wanted to look away; she didn't want to see those she had fought alongside sacrifice themselves. She had seen too much of that. But she didn't turn her head; to do so would diminish the Slayers' sacrifice.

The Slayers fought like champions; even as they died, they buried their axes in the arms and chests of the Rat Ogres, or sometimes even taking the monsters with them. The problem was that the Rat Ogres were tough, and they were good at killing Dwarfs. The battle between Slayer and monster lasted only a few minutes, but it bought the other Dwarfs and Humans time to get reorganized; when it was over, neither Slayer nor Rat Ogre lived.

"They reclaimed their honor," Gotrek said with gruff softness; for a moment, Shepard thought she saw jealousy in Gotrek's remaining eye.

Even if she had wanted to comment, Shepard was cut off by Morgrim, who lifted his axe high. "Prepare to charge! If we take out the reserves, we can take this pass!"

Dwarfs and Humans alike raised their weapons. Shepard led her army down the left side of the pass, while Morgrim led his warriors down the right; thankfully, the pass began to widen, allowing both armies to walk next to each other, rather than in a single mass.

The Skaven didn't plan to let them just march into their territory. Dozens of Doomflayers, large spherical devices covered in spikes and blades, were loosed. Some veered wildly off course, others exploded before they reached their targets, but those that hit were devastating; even the heavily-armored Dwarfs were shredded by the weapons. Easily a hundred Dwarfs were killed, and many more were wounded or taken out of the fight; a score of Halberdiers were caught in the path of one Doomflayer and turned into so much shredded meat and armor.

Their charge might have been blunted by the Skaven weapons, but the survivors were filled with righteous fury, determined to avenge their comrades. Artillery fired once again, as did the Handgunners, Thunderers, and Quarrelers. Though many Skaven died, the ones now facing them were Stormvermin, elite shock troops that wore heavier, if rusted, armor that kept many more safe.

The Stormvermin, armed with rusty halberds, stabbed forward just as the Humans and Dwarfs barreled into their line. Dozens died, but when they saw that the charge would not be stopped so easily, the Stormvermin hesitated; that was all their attackers needed to get in close, stabbing and swinging with all their strength. Axes and hammers, blades and spears, all punched through Skaven armor, carving flesh and breaking bone.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the Skaven began to fall back. The Stormvermin were made of sterner stuff than most Skaven, but they were still only Skaven; only the elite who fought alongside Queek Headtaker had any real bravery. Faced with enraged Humans and Dwarfs, the Skaven began to retreat en masse; the allied army made sure they kept running when their ranged units put one more volley into their retreating backs.

"That's it, then," Shepard said, looking around as both armies cheered.

"For now," Morgrim said gruffly. "Let's gather our dead and kick theirs out of the way; we have to get ready for the next fight."

…

All Tikk could smell was the musk of fear; the hated beard-things and stronger-than-anticipated man-things had pushed through everything he had. His Clanrats had been slaughtered, his Rat Ogres torn apart, and his reserves of Doomflayers had not performed as well as they should have. Even his vaunted Stormvermin had broken and ran, though Tikk had wisely begun retreating before they had.

It wasn't his fault, he reasoned. Clearly, his troops were of poor quality, as were the Rat Ogres—blame could be leveled at Clan Moulder, which would help Clan Mors, and himself—and the Doomflayers were obviously faulty—maybe he could blame Clan Skryre, while he was at it! Yes, this loss could be turned into an opportunity for him!

Then the wind changed, and the smell of musk was replaced with another scent, one that Tikk knew well.

"Green-things!" he hissed. "What are they doing now-here!?"

His question was answered by the swarms of Night Goblins that poured out of the tunnels ahead. Clad in black robes, armed with barbed weapons—and if the frothing mouths were any indication, some were clearly on mushrooms—they charged the Skaven with savage fury.

With no way out, Tikk fought like a trapped rat, tearing apart a dozen Goblins in a shower of blood and torn robes. But for every Goblin he killed, there were five more; in minutes, the panicked Skaven were overrun. The last thing Tikk saw was a massive ball of red flesh and giant teeth.

He never knew that Skarsnik himself had joined the battle.

…

"Those aren't Skaven," Shepard observed in a voice that was far calmer than she felt.

Morgrim peered into the distance, made harder by the fading sunlight. "By Grungni's Sacred Hammer, it's the _grobi_! Night Goblins!"

Shepard glanced back at their own forces. Troops that had been in the back ranks had rotated to the front, to let the previous fighters rest a bit. Artillery had been moved, reloaded, and reset. There hadn't been much time to set up a real defensive position, but Skorri and the other engineers had placed wooden spikes, angled at precise locations, to funnel at least some of the attackers—Night Goblins, rather than Skaven—into a kill-zone. Those areas that couldn't be fortified were defended by Flame Cannons and Irondrakes.

They had artillery, guns, and most of them were experts at defensive, grinding warfare. Still, although it was dark, Shepard estimated that they were outnumbered ten to one. It made the fight against the Skaven look like a skirmish.

Shepard realized that this had all been planned. "This was a trap," she said out loud. "The Goblins were waiting for us to fight the Skaven, so that they could finish us off while we're tired!"

"For a _grobi_ who's supposed to be smart, Skarsnik doesn't know my people that well," Morgrim snarled. "We've taken this ground, and we're not giving it up!"

The Dwarf's statement was a combination of stubbornness and realism. If they tried to retreat, they would be going uphill, and would be caught by the faster Goblins. Their only choice was to stand and fight; they would win, or they would die trying.

"I hope the army from Karak Azul attacked already," Shepard said as she adjusted her grip on her hammer. "Otherwise, we're on our own."

Morgrim huffed. "They'll be here; we just have to hold out long enough for them to catch the _grobi_ from behind."

Shepard smiled at that. "Good luck."

"To you as well," Morgrim said with a nod, then went to join his warriors.

"This should be fun, eh, General?" Richter asked, leaning his blade against his shoulder.

"We're heavily outnumbered, on the defensive, and fighting in the dark." Shepard grinned underneath her helmet. "This is going to be _awesome_!"

Someone laughed, but with the shrieking Night Goblins getting closer, she couldn't tell who it was.

"Arrows coming!" someone yelled.

Immediately, anyone who had a shield raised it to defend against the thousands of arrows falling towards them. However, seconds before they hit, a powerful gust of wind whipped about, sending most of the arrows into wild spins, where they became no more harmful than normal sticks.

Shepard turned around to see Gettmann, swaying on his feet, but smiling as he lowered his staff. "It seems the stars still favor us, General," he said weakly.

"Or at least the wind does," she replied; the magical display had caused the Night Goblins—those not high on mushrooms, at least—to hesitate in their charge. "Go get some rest now. You've earned it."

Gettmann didn't have the strength to respond, but allowed several men to guide him near the cannons, where he immediately passed out.

Thankfully, the Goblins didn't know that the one who countered their arrows was out of commission; if they did, they would have fired another volley. Instead, they leveled crude spears and brandished serrated blades and charged the Dwarf and Human line.

Cannons fired and Grudge Throwers were loosed, wreaking havoc among the Goblins. The rifles and crossbows killed even more, but it was the Helblasters, Organ Guns and Flame Cannons that stole the show this time. Packed so tightly, the Goblins were unable to avoid the waves of fire and clustered shots; it was as if the arm of a god swept through the first wave, obliterating almost all of them.

Shepard estimated that at least two thousand Goblins were killed in the opening barrage. She also realized that such losses wouldn't even faze them.

The artillery fired again and again, as did the Handgunners, Thunderers, and Quarrelers. As the Goblins inched ever closer, the Irondrakes unleashed their fury, but there were just too many of the greenskins. After nearly half an hour of shooting, the first Goblin crossed the fortifications, only to have his head crushed by Shepard's hammer.

More and more Goblins came within arm's distance. Weapons rose and fell, killing Night Goblins by the score, but there were always more to replace them, and it wasn't just normal fighters crashing into their lines. Some of them, high on mushrooms or just plain crazy, rode into battle on the backs of Squigs, large ball-like creatures with clawed legs and too many teeth. Some of the defenders were killed by the weapons held by the crazed Goblins, but most of the Squig Hoppers' victims died from being bitten and torn apart. Other Goblins, even crazier than the Squig Hoppers, jumped out of groups armed with a heavy metal ball attached to a long chain; these Fanatics swung their weapons in wide arcs, killing enemy and ally alike.

Grimly, the Dwarfs and Humans fought on with all the certainty of a last stand. If they were going to die, they would die memorable deaths. In the Dwarfs' case, they were helped by heavy armor and the endurance of the very mountains they lived under; for the Humans, they stayed alive by working as one, each man a cog in a well-oiled machine. It didn't hurt that the Jade Wizards were healing wounds as they came, or enchanting the bodies of soldiers to make them strong enough that weapons had trouble breaking their skin. Parral was particularly impressive; he had conjured a throne of vines that walked where he willed, and used it to boost his already considerable power. Whole regiments found themselves healing faster than they were being hurt.

For her part, Shepard fought at the front with the Greatswords; the latter's sweeping strikes cleared out a space that was free of living Goblins, while the former seemed to be everywhere at once, driving off clusters of Night Goblins wherever they looked to be overrunning her part of the line. Alongside them, Michael and his Swordsmen were another immovable force, slaying Goblins with zealous fury that was tempered by martial discipline. Behind the first ranks, Locke and his riders rode back and forth, reinforcing weaker areas with storms of bullets or trampling foes with their horses.

Shepard sensed movement next to her and whirled, but it was only Felix; he and Gotrek seemed to go wherever they wanted, though anywhere they _did_ go soon became free of Goblins.

"We'll be overwhelmed soon," Felix commented; though Shepard could hear a note of worry in his voice, there was an almost feverish light in his eyes as he hacked apart another Goblin.

"Never wanted to die lying down anyway," Shepard replied calmly. As a soldier who had gone through the worst her galaxy had had to offer, she had long been at peace with the idea of her own mortality.

The Night Goblins pressed in, and soon Shepard and Felix were fighting back-to-back. Shepard deflected blows with her shield, or turned enough to let attacks slide off her armor; Felix moved like quicksilver, dodging and parrying with ease. Still, even though they killed dozens of Goblins in moments, thousands more were charging in.

Then, in the distance, there was the sound of thunder, and a now-familiar, rapid thumping noise, the sound of Dwarf flying machines; seconds later, great swathes of Goblins were killed, but it wasn't by the artillery on Shepard's side of the field.

The army of Karak Azul had arrived.

Columns of Dwarfs marched with shields held in front, all gleaming with runes of protection, while their weapons glowed with runes of vengeance. Behind them, dozens of war machines fired into the rear of the Goblin host, while flights of Gyrocopters escorted larger Gyrobombers overhead, dropping bombs that lit up the night with fiery explosions.

"They're here!" cried the Imperials, while Dwarfs raised their weapons in tired salute, shouting "Hail to Karak Azul!" and "Death to the _grobi_!"

Though they still greatly outnumbered the Dwarfs and Humans, the Goblins began to retreat; they had been caught between the hammer of Karak Azul and the anvil of Barak Varr and the Empire.

But Skarsnik had one more card to play. He unleashed a trio of enormous Cave Squigs, each nearly three times the height of a man, into the smaller force. The monsters smashed apart formations and threw the defenders into chaos.

Thankfully, the carnage was ended soon after it began. In the back ranks, Skorri carefully adjusted the aim of a pair of Organ Guns and riddled one Squig with shots. Another was brought down by the combined efforts of a score of Irondrakes, Ironbreakers, and Morgrim, who finished off the beast with a flurry of axe-blows. The third was killed by Gotrek; the Slayer swung his axe with such strength that it cleaved off the creature's left leg, then tore open its belly as it collapsed on the ground.

Though damaging, the Squigs hadn't broken the defenders, and Skarsnik knew it. However, he had observed smaller army and noted that the Humans fought with unusual vigor; it was almost like fighting weaker Dwarfs. He still didn't know why they were at Karak Eight Peaks, but he knew that their efforts would probably be hindered if their leader was gone. With that in mind, he loosed his best weapon.

Shepard saw the Squig heading towards her and Felix; from its angle of approach, she thought it was targeting the poet, and acted on instinct.

"Move!" she shoved Felix out of the way, intending on bringing her hammer down on the Squig's head as it got close.

But just as Felix stumbled clear, Shepard tripped on the body of a Goblin. Unbalanced, she couldn't properly brace herself, and the Squig bowled her over. Her hammer was knocked from her hand, and then something clamped down on her legs and waist.

To the horror of all who saw, Shepard was swallowed whole by Gobbla.

"NO!" Richter leaped towards the Squig, sword raised, but the red-skinned monster bounded away, bouncing up and down as it returned to its master.

Dozens of soldiers tried to move forward to rescue their General, or at least avenge her, but the Squig, and the rest of the Night Goblin army, had retreated back into the lower levels of Karak Eight Peaks.

The Dwarfs from both Barak Varr and Karak Azul were cheering for their victory, despite their many dead, but to the Imperial soldiers, the battle felt more like a loss.

Richter shared a worried glance with the other officers as they gathered together. "What do we do now?"

 **Yeah. That happened. Put the torches and pitchforks down, she ain't dead. What kind of stupid thing would that be if I killed off the main character?**

 **Anyway, writing greenskin dialogue is fun, though it makes Word hate me. It's practically screaming 'type real English, you idiot' at me. Writing the mindset of a Skaven who's losing (which is most of them, most of the time) is hilarious. Not going to further into anything else.**

 **Next Chapter: The battle on the surface may be over, but the dangers under the mountain remain…**

 **May the Ancestor Muffins guide you.**


	12. War of the Peaks, Part 5

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. I HOPE NO ONE IS CLAUSTROPHOBIC.**

 **There are few fates worse than being eaten alive. One of those is being eaten alive while being taken into a dark hole in the ground. Poor Shepard.**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 12

War of the Peaks, Part 5

" _Even after all these years, I still can't decide whether that woman was the luckiest or unluckiest person in the world."—King Belegar Ironhammer, regarding General Alexia Shepard_

…

It was with mixed feelings that three armies entered the Citadel of Karak Eight Peaks. For the Dwarfs of Karak Azul, the battle outside had been a victory the likes of which hadn't been seen in years; thousands upon thousands of Goblins and Skaven were dead, losses on their own side had been minimal, and the Dwarf defenders were now highly unlikely to be dislodged. The Dwarfs from Barak Varr were slightly more subdued; while they were happy that they had helped win a major victory, they had lost nearly a thousand fighters, either from the trip to Karak Eight Peaks, or during the battle. Many grudges were already being written, though there would be plenty of opportunities to cross them out soon enough.

The Imperial forces, however, were led into the Citadel in a daze. Many men openly wept when they heard of Shepard's fate; others were in denial, and some had to be physically held back from running into the underground part of Karak Eight Peaks and taking out as many Goblins and Skaven as they could before dying.

Their allies from Barak Varr sympathized with them; many had come to respect the bravery Shepard had shown, and had been impressed at how respectful she'd been to them. Many of the Dwarfs had thought that she would be like many Imperial leaders—arrogant and unwilling to heed any advice but their own. It also didn't hurt that she used a hammer as well as any Dwarf.

While most of the Humans were taken to a section of the Citadel to rest and recuperate, the remaining leaders were brought to the throne room, to discuss what would happen next. Waiting for them was Morgrim, the only Dwarf who gave them anything more than a nod of acknowledgement. Alongside him were several other Lords and many Thanes, but the two most important Dwarfs were Thorek Ironbrow, Master Runelord of Karak Azul, and Belegar Ironhammer, King of Karak Eight Peaks.

Thorek Ironbrow was the leader of the Karak Azul army, and looked every bit the part. He was taller than the average Dwarf, though even when accounting for the horns mounted on his helm, he only barely reached the chests of most Humans. His armor was thick and heavy, though he moved as easily as if he wasn't wearing it; resting over one shoulder was a massive hammer, its head shaped like an anvil. His beard was long and white, divided into two separate braids; each braid was capped by a miniature hammer. The Runelord glanced at the Humans with a critical eye, as if every move they made had a fault that needed correcting.

Nearby, seated on a massive throne that was raised to let him observe everyone in the hall, was Belegar Ironhammer. At first glance, he would have been mistaken for an empty, albeit thick, suit of armor; the only part of his body that was visible was his white beard, which was tied into three braids and secured with gold, gem-studded clasps. Resting against one side of his throne was a simple-looking hammer, but the Wizards who entered the throne room could feel great power within it; the same could be said for the red, gold-chased shield that rested against the other side of the throne. Ironhammer truly looked the part of a warrior-king, ready to do whatever it took to achieve victory, even if it had to be done with his own hands.

Somewhat tiredly, the Humans knelt before the Dwarf ruler; before he left, Morgrim had warned the Humans to wait for King Ironhammer to address them. The bitter king could be cantankerous on a good day, and if the Humans wanted to still complete their mission, they would have to be respectful.

"So, you're the ones from the Empire," Belegar said gruffly. "I'm told you're looking for some magical something-or-other that ended up on my mountains."

When there was a pause, the Humans realized that that was their cue to plead their case. Locke, the most diplomatic of the group—and technically the highest-ranking man left—looked Belegar in the eye.

"Yes, Your Majesty," he said. "Our Emperor, Karl Franz, sent us to retrieve this item before it fell into the hands of our enemies."

"Oh?" Belegar leaned forward, his hands now resting on his knees. "And what if this 'item' belongs to my people?"

Locke desperately wanted to look at Gettmann for some kind of confirmation, but that would be a sign of weakness. As such, he did the best he could.

"We are almost certain that this item, we are calling it a shard at the moment, was not made by your people. If it is, I am certain that the Emperor will request to at least study it for a time. If it was not made by your people, I am sure that we can all agree that keeping it away from the Goblins and the Skaven is a wise move."

On either side of him, Locke could feel both Michael and Richter tense. The former did so because the Emperor had promised no such thing when they left the Empire, and the thought of the bearer of Sigmar's hammer having to negotiate made the priest's blood boil. Richter tensed because Shepard had said almost the exact same thing when they had wondered how they would enter negotiations with the Dwarfs. The battle was only a few hours ago, and the pain of her loss was still fresh.

Thorek made a noise that sounded like he was clearing his throat. "I'll be the judge of that. King Belegar, if it isn't Dwarf-crafted, it would be better to have it out of our lands."

Many of the other Dwarfs, including Morgrim, nodded; it was no secret that they disliked anything magical that wasn't made by their hands.

Belegar mulled it over for a few minutes, and then scowled. "Your task is to find this 'shard' and take it away?"

Locke nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty; I and the others here will personally deal with any of our men who defy your laws and edicts."

That seemed to satisfy Belegar. "We'll work out the details tomorrow. For now, you may return to your soldiers; rest and mourn your dead."

Locke actually heard Richter grinding his teeth together; before he could stop him, the man raised his head.

"Pardon me, Your Majesty."

Belegar glared at Richter. "Yes, what do you want?"

Richter matched the Dwarf's hard stare. "Will there be no effort to rescue General Shepard?"

"The woman who led you?" Belegar glanced at Morgrim, who looked uncomfortable. "I heard that she was devoured by Skarsnik's pet; very few have survived such a fate."

"Still, we must try to save her!" Richter protested.

Save for Thorek, everyone jumped when Belegar slammed his fist down on the arm of his throne. "Your General is dead! Even if she somehow escaped the Squig's maw, she would be in the deepest part of Karak Eight Peaks by now! There would be miles to travel, and each step would be hounded by Goblins, Skaven, and every other foul monster that festers in my kingdom! There is not a mortal on this world that would survive such a journey; mourn your leader, or you will be consumed by false hope, something that I do not need in this time of war."

Belegar took a deep breath to calm himself, then gave the Humans something that resembled a sympathetic look. "If you wish to remain here, if you wish to finish your task, you will have to accept that General Shepard is dead."

With heavy hearts, the Imperials were escorted back to their barracks; caught up in their own thoughts, they didn't notice that Gotrek and Felix were nowhere to be found.

…

Shepard was not happy. In fact, she was as far from happy as she could get. She was bruised, battered, dizzy, and covered in a slime the origins of which she _really_ didn't want to think about. Most importantly, she was unhappy because she had been _eaten alive_!

One moment, she had been fighting Night Goblins; the next, a very large mouth had clamped over her and pushed her down the gullet of a smelly Squig. The only thing that kept her from falling into the monster's stomach was the most important tongue-wrestling match of Shepard's life. This was in a literal sense; the Squig's tongue was so large that Shepard could wrap her arms around it, and that was what she did.

She had no idea how long she was inside the Squig; the constant bouncing around and the darkness threw off her sense of time. By the time the bouncing stopped, suggesting that the Squig had come to a halt, Shepard's arms ached from constant use, so she assumed that it had been a while.

But there was still the problem of being inside the Squig; Shepard had no idea what was outside, but she had _no_ intention of staying where she was. With some effort, she drew her pistol and pressed the barrels against the roof of the Squig's mouth.

 _Blam! Blam! Blam!_

There was a shift of balance, a groan of pain, and the Squig fell on its side. Shepard tossed her pistol out of the partially open mouth, then hauled herself after it. She fell to the ground with wet slap and a metallic clank. Shepard hauled herself to her feet, then picked up and holstered her weapon—her _only_ weapon, she realized. Her hammer was lost, so all she had to defend herself was her pistol and shield, and she only had seven rounds left for the pistol.

Shield held out, just in case, Shepard took in her surroundings; at first she thought she was in a cavern, but after looking past the layers of grime and patches of mushrooms, she saw that the walls were too smooth, and the pillars nearby, though chipped and covered in crude iconography, looked too similar to ones she'd seen in Barak Varr to be anything other than Dwarf-made.

She was in the depths of Karak Eight Peaks, the heart of enemy territory, and she had no idea how to get out.

Behind her, she heard a door roughly shoved open.

"Gobbla, ya done gettin' dat fing outta yer gob?" There was an angry shriek. "Oi, humie! What're ya doin' 'ere?"

Standing in the doorway was a Night Goblin, but this one was a much more intimidating specimen. Though he was small, like most of his kind, this Night Goblin's robes and hood were more ornate, covered in talismans and bones. In his hands was a spear, its head was wide and surrounded by spikes.

The Goblin glared at Shepard with beady eyes, before shifting those eyes to the dead Squig. "Gobbla? Gobbla, you alive?"

Shepard didn't take her eyes off the Goblin. "Pretty sure he's dead."

The Goblin snarled at her. "Ya humie git! I'll kill ya!"

Faster than Shepard would have thought possible, the Goblin charged at her, spear leveled at her stomach. Shepard leaned out of the way, though the spear still grazed her side; it bit through her armor and sliced across her flesh. Biting back a cry of pain, Shepard lashed out with her leg, smashing the steel-clad limb into the Goblin's face and kicking him across the room.

"Ya done it now, humie," the Goblin spat. "Yer gonna wish ya never met Skarsnik, Warlord of da Eight Peaks!"

Shepard kept her shield between her and her attacker. "You're Skarsnik? I thought you'd be taller."

"I'm da ruler o' dis place," Skarsnik snarled. "I took it from da Skaven and da stunties, and no humie git is gonna take it from me!"

Rather than waste breath talking, Shepard rushed the Goblin ruler, shield slamming into him and throwing him to the ground. Shepard tossed the shield aside and tried to wrap her gauntlets around Skarsnik's throat, but the Goblin thrashed madly, wiry fists and feet flailing. Shepard realized that Skarsnik was stronger than he looked when one lucky blow caught her in the throat. Coughing and wheezing, Shepard lost her grip, and Skarsnik wriggled out from under her, jumped onto her back, and wrapped one arm around her throat.

"Gonna enjoy killin' ya, humie," Skarsnik hissed in her ear.

Without the breath to reply, Shepard settled for jumping up and falling on her back. Caught between stone and an armored Human, Skarsnik was stunned for several seconds, giving Shepard time to regain her breath. By the time that happened, Skarsnik was trying to get to the door, where he would no doubt get help.

Shepard dived for the Goblin, catching him by the ankle and pulling the attached leg closer. With a might punch, she broke Skarsnik's leg, then slammed her helm into his face to keep him from screaming.

Despite being crippled, Skarsnik was not through fighting. He lashed out with a flurry of punches, which Shepard blocked with raised, armored arms, but the momentum knocked her down. Standing over her, Skarsnik grabbed a loose stone, the size of a man's fist, and smashed it against her head. Though her Cerberus upgrades would have kept her skull from being broken, there was enough rage behind the blow that, had it not been for her enchanted helmet, she would have been knocked out. Still, she was dazed, and her hands fell to the ground; her right hand brushed against something, and on instinct, she grabbed it and slammed it into Skarsnik's side.

The Goblin gasped and fell over. When Shepard's vision was no longer blurry, she saw that Skarsnik was dragging himself away, one hand weakly pulling at his own spear, which Shepard had buried into his chest.

"Ya… ain't gonna take my… my mountains," Skarsnik wheezed, looking up at Shepard hatefully as she approached. "I'm da r-ruler of da… da Eight Peaks!"

Panting, Shepard reached out and yanked the spear from Skarsnik's body, then plunged it into his throat.

"Not anymore," she hissed, watching the light fade from the Goblin's eyes.

She then sank to the floor, not caring about the blood, excrement, and other filth that now covered her armor. She sighed tiredly; she had fought Goblins during the journey to Karak Eight Peaks and the battle on the surface, but even the Night Goblins she'd faced had not been so vicious. Then again, only the meanest and cruelest of their kind could command not only other Goblins, but Orc tribes as well; to control such a huge force here, Skarsnik had to be even meaner and crueler.

"Now what do I do?" she wondered. She knew she had to get back to the surface; staying underground was suicide. Still, she hoped to avoid detection for as long as possible, since escaping would be all the more difficult if she had an army of greenskins or Skaven after her.

 _And someone will realize something is wrong if they come in here and see that their leader has a spear in him,_ she thought. _I need to hide the body._

Unfortunately, since she didn't know where in the Goblin-held areas of Karak Eight Peaks to hide both a Goblin leader and a large Squig, she had to try another tactic. First, she used the wide-bladed spear to slice through Skarsnik's neck, removing his head, and stuffed it into a bag and hooked it to her belt. She had a feeling that the Dwarfs would want some kind of proof of Skarsnik's death, and if what she'd heard about King Belegar Ironhammer was true, he'd recognize the face of the Goblin. She then dragged the body over to the dead Gobbla and pushed it halfway into the Squig's mouth, before stabbing the dead Squig with Skarsnik's spear and leaving it there. Her hope was that, if some Goblins came in to check on their leader, the scene would look like the two had killed each other, rather than that an intruder had done them in.

Picking up her shield, Shepard crept out the door and into the darkness.

…

"Get dat hunk o' rock outta da way!" Umguff grunted sourly, and the pack of Goblins hurried to obey him.

The big Orc wanted so much to hit something, but the Goblins working under him were wisely staying out of his reach. Umguff usually enjoyed seeing the lesser greenskins cower away from him, but not today.

Umguff had once been important. His tribe, the Bleederz, had come to Karak Eight Peaks when they heard that there was good fighting against the stunties and the rat-people. His Warboss, Bigfist the Puncha, had been the only one who had more power than Umguff, though if Umguff had his way, that wouldn't have lasted forever. However, when the Orcs and their Goblin servants arrived at the mountains, Bigfist was challenged by Skarsnik; the Orc, confident in his superior size and strength, accepted. To Umguff's surprise, the little Goblin was as quick as he was mean, and between Skarsnik and Gobbla, Bigfist was killed without much trouble. Skarsnik had claimed rule over the Bleederz, and set them to work excavating Dwarf ruins for valuable items. Many of the Orcs were reassigned to fight the Skaven when the rat-people began attacking more aggressively, but Skarsnik decided to keep Umguff in charge of the labor, to keep the Orc from getting any ideas or supporters. All he had were packs of the weakest Goblins, not even true Night Goblins; at least those crazy blighters were decent in a fight!

Thinking about his predicament only made Umguff angrier. With a snarl, he snatched up his choppa, a spiked cleaver the length of his arm, and brought it down on a Goblin who'd thought himself safe.

"Get ta work, ya gits!"

With a small hint of satisfaction, Umguff watched the last pieces of masonry hauled away; stooping to avoid hitting his head, he walked into the small chamber. Like all Dwarf tombs, there was a rune-covered casket, though after years of work on the part of Orc and Goblin Shamans, along with more than a little bashing, the runes had finally been weakened enough to enter the chamber. Umguff didn't know the details, and he didn't care; all he knew was that there was shiny Dwarf loot to be had!

"Ah, dere's a chest fing," he said, pointing at a locked box. "Let's get it open!"

Unlike the burial chamber, there were no runes on the chest, just a simple lock that, with several blows from Umguff's choppa, was quickly shattered. When the Orc looked at the chest's contents, he grinned.

"Oi, you runts!" he called over his shoulder. "Ya done good! Da bosses'll luv dis shiny fing!"

Normally, when Goblins heard good news, there was some cheering, or at least some cackles. When there wasn't any noise at all, Umguff turned around to find out where his underlings had run off to.

"Ya better not have left," he warned as he stepped out of the tomb. "I ain't had gobbo stew in a while, an' if ya ran off, I'z gonna have some fer dinner!"

He did find his wayward Goblins; they were in a pile near the rubble, their necks neatly snapped. Next to them was a Human who wore filth-covered armor; it had a shield on one arm, and a small Goblin sword in the other hand.

"Oho, a fight!" Umguff grinned, showing yellowed teeth. "I ain't had one o' dem fer a while!"

The Human didn't waste time talking, instead rushing forward with the stolen sword. Umguff swung his choppa, but the Human ducked at the last second, then darted around him and shoved the sword into his leg. The sword was then ripped out and slashed across his back several times before Umguff could react. He lashed out with his free hand, catching the Human in the face, ripping off the helmet. The Human recovered, then spat out some blood and glared at him; at first, Umguff thought that her head was bleeding, but it was just her red hair.

Umguff roared and swung his choppa down, but the Human sidestepped, then jumped forward and swung her shield into his face hard enough to knock out one of his tusks. Before he could do more than snarl, the Human shoved her blade into his eye and deep into his brain. Still, Umguff had enough energy to knock the Human to the ground; he raised his choppa to finish her off, but his body chose that moment to realize that it was dead, and he collapsed in a heap.

…

 _Son of a bitch was tougher than I thought he'd be,_ Shepard thought as she got to her feet. She had fought Orcs a few times during the trip to Karak Eight Peaks, but though they had been more aggressive than their smaller cousins, they were slower and their movements were brutish. Shepard had fought smart, taking advantage of their unbalanced attacks in order to kill them. She had thought that this one, though bigger than any other Orc she'd fought, would go the same way; unfortunately, the monster's sheer size and refusal to die had made it a more difficult challenge.

As she retrieved her helmet and put it back on, she scowled; things would also have been easier if she'd had a better weapon, and she didn't want to waste her remaining shots. All she had been able to get her hands on was a crude, rusty sword that she'd taken off a dead Goblin, and that was buried in the Orc's skull. She tried to remove it, but the shoddy blade snapped off at the hilt.

"Well, that's just fucking great," Shepard growled. "Now I'm back to only my—what the hell?"

With her helmet back on and enhancing her senses, Shepard spotted a soft glow out of the corner of her eye; it was coming from within the chamber that the Orc had been in. Curious, Shepard went in to investigate; she grimaced when she saw what had to be a burial chamber. She made sure to watch her footing, not wanting to disturb any remains, but continued towards the source of the light. It was coming from inside a chest that was slightly ajar; Shepard opened it fully, and gasped when she saw its contents.

Resting in a sculpted container was an axe; even to Shepard's less experienced eye, it was one of the most finely crafted weapons she'd seen in this world. The black metal haft was almost as long as her arm, its grip made of red-toned leather; the blade itself was a wide, single-headed affair that curved gracefully, but promised death to anything it touched. On either side of the blade was a stylized carving of the head of a dragon breathing fire. Carved on the inside of the top half of the chest was a string of Khazalid, the Dwarf language, but Shepard didn't know what it meant.

Shepard didn't realize that she'd been reaching for the axe until her fingers brushed the grip, and she stopped. She had promised that neither she nor any of her men would take anything belonging to the Dwarfs, and now she was about to rob a grave! What was wrong with her?

Then again, she had been told stories by Olg about the Orcs and Goblins' desecration of Dwarf dead; they and the Skaven were always disturbing remains and taking artifacts. Until Shepard had come along, the same thing had been about to happen again.

"I can't do anything for you," Shepard whispered to the long-dead Dwarf within the casket, "but I can keep your weapon out of enemy hands. I promise to return it to your people."

With that, she took hold of the axe and pulled it from the chest. Despite the entire thing being a large chunk of metal, it felt as light as a feather in her hand. Shepard swung it experimentally a few times, and found that it was perfectly balanced. She also noticed that every time she swung it, she felt an unusual rush, like a miniature burst of adrenaline; she wondered what would happen in actual combat, since Dwarfs tended to put runes on weapons that enhanced their strength or granted special abilities.

Smiling grimly, Shepard stuck the grip of the axe in the loop that normally held her hammer. Whatever the axe could do, she was sure that she'd have a chance to find out before too long.

…

"Fire at will!" Locke shouted. "Tear these bastards apart!"

Ragged war-cries tore from the throats of every man as the Handgunners, Pistoliers and Outriders, and the artillery crews poured shot after shot into the mass of Skaven. Accompanied by arrows, bullets, and larger projectiles from the Dwarfs alongside them, the Imperials all but obliterated another wave of Skaven.

Locke turned to Skorri, his eyes almost as grim as any Dwarf's. "You may resume your work."

The Dwarf Engineer nodded, and directed his fellows in fortifying the newest foothold. For the last two days since the reinforcements reached Karak Eight Peaks, King Belegar had been relentless in expanding his territory. It was not clear why, but the surface of the Eight Peaks was all but abandoned by both the Goblins and the Skaven, and the Dwarfs were quick to make sure that only they would hold it. When the expected Goblin counterattack didn't come, only a few waves of Skaven, it was assumed that the fighting between the two other races was too intense for them to worry about the original owners of Karak Eight Peaks. Belegar was determined to make them regret that choice; for the first time in years, the Dwarfs had the advantage in this unending war, and they were capitalizing on it.

Since the Humans' objective was still unclear, Belegar assigned them to protect the engineers as they repaired old fortifications and built new ones, while large groups of heavily-armed Dwarfs began entering the first Deep, just below the surface. So far, these forces had had to retreat after only a few hours, but they came back with strange news—the Night Goblins were rapidly losing ground to the Skaven.

"It's not like Skarsnik to make mistakes on this level," Belegar grumbled after these first reports. "If this is right, then he's lost almost a third of his territory!"

"Could the Skaven have thrown everything at the Goblins at once?" Locke asked, since he had been present at the meeting.

Belegar shook his head. "Skarsnik's too smart to lose like that, and Queek might be aggressive, but he's not smart enough to outwit that Night Goblin. No, something else is going on; not sure if I like it."

On a personal level, Locke didn't care about who he was fighting, or even about the mission; he was still too full of rage, and just wanted to kill as many enemies as he could. No amount of victories would make up for the loss of General Shepard, but it was all Locke could do. Like him, the other Imperials had channeled their grief into fury, and were so vengeful that even some of the Dwarfs were showing them respect.

While the common soldiers took Shepard's death as badly as that of any Imperial hero's, those that knew her were devastated. Richter was inconsolable, unwilling to speak unless it was in response to an order, and fighting with such fury that he would collapse after every battle. Michael had led a short prayer for Shepard's soul, then declared his own personal crusade against the Skaven; he swore that, when he returned to the Empire, he would make everyone see that the rat-men were a threat that needed to be eliminated. Parral had thrown himself into his work, either healing those who needed it, or instructing the lesser Jade Wizards with unusual fierceness. Gettmann had been withdrawn, not speaking to anyone; he just gazed into a crystal ball during the day, and stared at the stars during the night, trying to find answers. Locke didn't know what answers the Celestial Wizard was searching for, but they would probably come too late.

It just wasn't fair, Locke mused. Shepard had explained to her officers that these shards that they were after were the only things that might be able to send her home. Despite just trying to get back to her homeland, she had been thrown from one dangerous situation to another. She didn't deserve her fate, and though Locke knew that life could be cruel and unfair, he had always thought that Shepard had the aura of someone who had suffered enough already.

And now she was gone.

Grinding his teeth, Locke tugged at his horse's reins and led his cavalry to the next position; it wouldn't be long before the Skaven sent another probing attack. There would be time for woolgathering later.

…

Shepard fought down the urge to gag as she swallowed another chunk of charred rat. Without anything else to eat, she had been forced to hunt rats with a crude Goblin spear. These rats were huge, almost the size of small dogs, and once they were skinned, gutted, and thoroughly cooked, they were edible enough to sustain her. But that didn't change the fact that she was eating _rat_.

By her estimate, she had been underground for almost three days. In that time, she had continued to go up, using stairs, or any tunnel that was angled toward the surface. The problem was that she would hit a dead end, or walls would suddenly open up into Skaven-made tunnels, so she would have to backtrack. She wasn't sure, but she thought she'd gone up two levels, though since she had no idea how deep she'd been when she started, that might not mean much.

At least she'd avoided any conflict, save for a few Skaven that she'd killed with her bare hands. She had wrapped herself in several of their cloaks—with the wolf-like snout of her helmet poking out of the hood, she could almost pass as a Skaven if she hunched over—and used scraps of cloth to cover her boots, muffling her footsteps. She also draped some of the cloth over her shield, in case light caught on it and got unwanted attention.

She shifted to get a better seat, and bumped her leg against the runic axe. Shepard still hadn't used it in battle, but the smell of the place coating her, the Skaven cloth, and the stinking head of Skarsnik still in its bag, she was reasonably sure that her main worry would be the greenskins. As long as she stayed away from the Skaven, anyway.

After putting out her cooking fire, Shepard leaned back against a broken pillar. Even after so many years of being defiled by greenskins and Skaven, Karak Eight Peaks was still breathtaking. The pillars that were still intact stood strong, almost as if defying the graffiti and damage they'd sustained. If Shepard looked hard enough, she thought she saw glittering lights here and there—gemstones that had been inserted by Dwarf artisans that hadn't been removed by invaders.

 _I really hope the Dwarfs retake this place,_ Shepard thought. _It's too good for these guys._

Shepard was about to close her eyes, intent on taking a short nap, but the sound of fighting brought her to full awareness. Focusing on the noise, she estimated that it wasn't exactly close, but it was also between her and where she was headed.

"Dammit," Shepard swore under her breath; the sounds were slowly getting closer, indicating that the battle was heading further underground.

Getting up, and pulling the axe free, Shepard headed towards the noise so that she could get a better idea on the situation. What she saw was unnerving.

Back in her galaxy, Shepard wasn't used to seeing massive armies clashing in one location; typically, a large-scale war would be dozens, or even hundreds, of teams sent to achieve various objectives. The closest thing to the kind of fighting she'd seen in this world had been the final battle on Earth, and that had mostly been in space.

What she saw now, however, were tens of thousands of Skaven slamming into an army of Orcs and Goblins of equal numbers. It wasn't so much a battle as it was two enormous blunt objects being swung at each other. Huge groups of Skaven and Goblins were tearing into each other, though they were fleeing as often as they were fighting. Orcs bellowed and charged at Stormvermin, Trolls and Rat Ogres waded through groups of smaller enemies, Squigs and giant rats tore each other to pieces, and cackling Shamans dueled with horned Grey Seers, both using unstable magic. In the back ranks of both armies, artillery blasted holes in the other side; the Skaven used giant lightning-guns, while one- or two-man weapon crews launched poisonous gas, storms of bullets, and waves of unnatural fire. The greenskins countered with crude catapults, and hundreds of Night Goblin Fanatics.

After a few minutes of watching, Shepard saw that the Skaven were starting to win. Though both sides were more or less equal in terms of infantry, the Skaven had the advantage of superior technology. Their lightning weapons and weapon crews added a punch to their forces that the greenskins couldn't match; it didn't matter how insane a Fanatic was if he choked and died on poison gas. These weapons were unstable—more than one exploded or fired into the wrong side—but they had been placed where they would do the maximum damage to enemy forces.

It was when the Skaven unleashed a pincer attack that the greenskins' situation went from bad to worse. On one flank, dozens of Doomflayers were launched, followed up by several Doomwheels—a hollow wheel driven by a cackling Skaven, and armed with several lightning-shooting weapons—that punched deep into the Orc and Goblin lines.

On the other flank, a massive… _thing_ lumbered into view. It resembled a rat in the loosest terms, but it had too many limbs and heads; thick stitches crisscrossed its hide, and more than one limb was mechanical. This monster dragged itself across the ground and flailed its massive bulk, crushing scores of Goblins and any Skaven who were unfortunate enough to get in the way. A mob of Orcs charged it, but though their weapons dug deep into its flesh, many of the wounds regenerated in seconds. The Orcs were not so lucky, and were either shredded by claws or smashed into paste.

With the attacks on their flanks, the greenskin army started to shrink, slowly enveloped by the Skaven forces. It was then that Shepard began to move, creeping around the edge of the battle and doing her best to look like a Skaven that was trying to get away from the fighting. It almost worked, until she ran into a small group of Stormvermin that had been placed in the far back for just such an occasion.

There was no way she could bluff her way past; her 'disguise' relied on being further away. There were only eight of them, and they were directly between her and the next level, so she felt like she didn't have another choice. Reaching into the filthy cloak, she drew the axe.

As if sensing battle, the dragon design on the blade began to glow an unearthly orange. Before Shepard even got close enough to swing the axe, the Skaven were reeling back in fear. When Shepard struck, the axe not only cleaved straight through one Stormvermin, armor and all, it kept on going into another; several bloody chunks fell to the ground, armor and flesh neatly cut.

 _Ooh, I like this,_ Shepard thought, then drew back the axe again. "Who else wants some?"

The Stormvermin didn't even hesitate to turn tail and run. Not wanting to wait around for them to bring help, Shepard ran up the stairs. Hopefully, she'd be outside soon.

…

"Something is wrong."

Michael looked up from cleaning his hammer to raise an eyebrow at Gettmann. "You finally speak, after five days, and _that_ is all you have to say?"

Richter laughed, but it was hollow and bitter. "I don't need magic to tell you that things have gone to hell, Wizard."

Gettmann shook his head. "No, that is not what I mean. Ever since the battle, I have been trying to find out how I did not foresee General Shepard's death; I saw much danger, but nothing so sudden."

"Did you _warn_ her of the danger?" Richter asked, his hand drifting closer to his sword, his eyes daring Gettmann to say no.

"I did," the Wizard said calmly, though he took a careful step back. "I warned her that there was a risk, and in doing so, I changed her fate."

"So that she died in some other way?" Richter didn't get up, but he was glaring daggers.

"No. I believe that General Shepard is alive." Everyone present stared at him. "The stars say that there is more to her destiny. That cannot be so if she is dead."

For the first time since their arrival at Karak Eight Peaks, the officers experienced a glimmer of hope.

"But where is she?" Locke asked. "Can you find her now?"

Gettmann sighed, and it was then that the others noticed how tired he looked; he usually looked sleepy, but at that moment, he appeared exhausted.

"I have been trying to find her more immediate fate, but I cannot. There is simply too much warpstone disrupting anything involving the Skaven, and that is what she is probably fighting now."

For a moment, the others looked ready to rush out the door, but then they collectively sighed in defeat.

"We can't get to her, can we?" Richter asked.

"There are simply too many greenskins and Skaven in the way," Locke said. "King Belegar is still preparing for a large-scale assault, but even if we capture the First Deep, who knows where the General is?"

The others had to reluctantly agree. Another two days had passed since their arrival, and the Dwarfs were confident that the surface of Karak Eight Peaks was truly theirs once again. Belegar was organizing a three-wave assault on the underground portion of the hold, led by his personal forces—who were more experienced with the foe and the terrain than any others—and would be followed by the Karak Azul Dwarfs, with the rear being brought up by the ranged troops and war machines of Barak Varr. Unless something changed, the Imperials' job would be to keep watch on the surface.

"I'll petition King Belegar to let us accompany the attack, even if it is only a rearguard action," Locke said after a moment. "His people may not trust Wizards, but we must try. At the very least, I will tell him that General Shepard may be still alive, and ask that he keep an eye out."

Richter smiled; unlike the last time, it was genuine. "Who wants to bet that Gotrek and Felix have already found her?"

The others smiled or groaned; after they had realized that the two had gone missing, a quick search revealed that they had ventured into the depths of Karak Eight Peaks. Since Gotrek was a Slayer, no one had blocked his passage. None of them had known why they had left, but with the possibility of Shepard's survival, maybe they had gone to look for her. It was a better explanation than that they had just abandoned them all.

"Discounting our wayward friends, I will still speak with King Belegar," Locke said, heading for the door. "If General Shepard truly lives, I will not leave anything to chance."

…

 _So much for getting out of here sooner,_ Shepard thought as she hacked apart another Orc. _I don't even remember how long it's been!_

On the one hand, Shepard was positive that she was headed in the right direction—every flight of stairs that went up gave her just a bit more hope. On the other hand, she kept running into things that wanted to kill her!

This time, it was a group of Orcs; unlike most of the times she'd been attacked so far, she'd found them first. With her borrowed axe in hand, she killed four of them before they knew what hit them; the last seven—six, now—were swinging crude cleavers and axes in an effort to kill her, but Shepard either avoided them, or her axe hacked clean through an offending weapon.

Since she started using the axe, she'd started to figure out what made it so special. For one, it had a nasty habit of doing much more damage than it should have, often cleaving through several targets in one swing. Another feature was that armor didn't seem to slow it down much, if at all; she'd learned that during a fight with an Orc whose armor had to be over an inch thick, yet it hadn't given her much trouble. The last trick it had was that it seemed to instill fear in whatever she was fighting; her opponents didn't immediately flee at the sight of her, but it seemed to make them hesitate, or put a seed of doubt in their minds. It didn't always work, since some enemies could just push through fear, but it was better than nothing.

Once Shepard finished killing the Orcs, she looked around for any sign of more enemies before letting herself relax. It seemed that most of the greenskins were busy dealing with Skaven offensives throughout the hold, so she only had to face occasional pockets of resistance, while skirting around larger groups as they headed off to battle.

More of those groups seemed to be heading down, rather than up, so Shepard assumed that the greenskins were busier with the Skaven than the Dwarfs. Unless something had happened to her allies on the surface—she shook that thought away. She had to believe that her army and the Dwarfs were still fighting, that she had somewhere to go back to. At that point, it was the only thing keeping her going.

Wiping her axe clean of blood on the chest of a dead Orc, Shepard headed for the next chamber, where she would hopefully find a set of stairs that led to the next level. Unfortunately, she didn't.

Instead, she ran right into a Rat Ogre.

The semi-mechanical monster blinked at her, then roared, raising its fists to crush her. Without even thinking, Shepard drew her pistol and fired her remaining four bullets; she had used three when dealing with a particularly annoying Night Goblin archer earlier. The bullets dug into the Rat Ogre's chest, but didn't kill it. Shepard rolled out of the way as the burly arms came crashing down, then drew her axe back and swung down, severing its right arm at the elbow.

The Rat Ogre screeched, but tried to kill her with its other arm. Shepard weaved around it, getting in close and hacking off one of its legs; when it fell over, she finished it off with a blow that sliced off its head.

For a moment, Shepard thought that she was in the clear… until she noticed that there were four more Rat Ogres behind the one she'd just killed, along with dozens of Skaven.

"Well… shit," she muttered.

"Kill-kill man-thing!" a Skaven shouted, and then all hell broke loose.

Rather than take on four Rat Ogres at once, she ran around them heading for the Skaven first. Her axe rose and fell, killing three or four with each swing. Spears and swords stabbed at her, but she deflected them with her shield, slapped them aside with the axe, or outright avoided them. She was about to chase after a group that looked ready to retreat, but something heavy slammed into her back, sending her flying. When the room stopped spinning, she saw that the closest Rat Ogre had managed to get a glancing hit on her; she really didn't want to get hit with the full force of its blows if she could avoid it.

Several Skaven quickly jumped on her, knocking away her axe and shield; one aimed a rusty dagger at her throat. Just before he drove it home, there was a flash of silver, and the Skaven was suddenly missing its head. While Shepard was surprised, so were the other Skaven, and she used that to throw them off.

"It's good to see you, General!" Shepard stared at Felix, who calmly decapitated another Skaven. "We've been looking for you for some time."

 _We?_ Before Shepard could speak, there was a wordless roar, and Gotrek crashed into the Skaven like an angry comet.

With the shocked stillness now broken, Shepard grabbed her axe and shield and charged the nearest Skaven.

"How the hell did you find me!?" she yelled over the screeching cries.

"Well, it wasn't like we knew where you were," Felix admitted as he fought. "We just assumed that, if anyone would survive long enough to be found, it would be you!"

"Bah, don't listen to him," Gotrek huffed. "He's the one who wanted to come down here and look for you." Shepard smiled, touched that the poet had been the one to come after her. "He said something about not wanting to owe you after you saved his life."

 _Well,_ that _moment ended quick,_ Shepard thought, adding a bit more effort than was necessary to kill another Skaven.

Felix grinned unrepentantly, then expertly parried a Skaven's thrust before stabbing it through the throat. He was about to make a smart remark, but one of the remaining Rat Ogres stomped up to him, followed by the other three. Shepard tried to get to him, but there were still dozens of Skaven between her and her friend.

What happened next was something that would stay in Shepard's memory forever.

The lead Rat Ogre swung a fist in a backhanded arc. Rather than duck or dodge, Felix grabbed a chain that was wrapped around its arm and let it pull him around; he used the momentum to swing up onto its arm, then jumped onto its shoulder. The Rat Ogre had just enough time to look confused before Felix shoved his sword through the top of its skull and into its brain.

Before the Rat Ogre hit the ground, Felix jumped off, landing directly in front of another. He slashed the monster across the stomach, then laid open its throat, letting its guts mix with a torrent of blood. Felix danced out of the way of a third Rat Ogre, letting its clumsy strike hit its dying fellow instead. He then lopped off the offending hand at the wrist, then drew a knife from his belt and threw it into the Rat Ogre's eye. The monster roared in pain, and Felix used the distraction to eviscerate it with a series of strikes that even Shepard could barely follow.

By the time the last Rat Ogre had reached him, Gotrek had finished off the last of the Skaven; the Dwarf lunged at the monster, his axe buried deep into its back. At the same time, Felix stabbed the creature through the heart; however, momentum was on Gotrek's side, and both he and the Rat Ogre fell onto the poet.

Shepard blinked, then stepped over the dead Skaven in a daze as she made her way over to her rescuers.

"Felix, you okay? Say something if you're not dead." An arm poked out from underneath the dead Rat Ogre, and there was a muffled voice. "What was that? I couldn't hear you!"

"Get this thing off of me!" Felix demanded, louder this time.

Shepard and Gotrek shared a smirk, then lifted the corpse enough for Felix to wriggle free.

"So… thanks for the save, guys," Shepard said as she removed her helmet. The man and the Dwarf were covered in filth, blood—none of it their own—and had clearly been traveling a lot. Still, Shepard had never been happier to see anyone. "I was starting to forget what other Humans and Dwarfs looked like."

Felix grinned. "Now how could you forget my handsome face, General?"

Shepard smiled back. "It's easy when you've got rat crap on your face." She laughed when Felix began scrubbing at his face, then turned to Gotrek. "How long have I been down here? I kinda lost track of time."

"Five days, though if we're careful, we can reach the surface in two," Gotrek said, actually looking impressed, before his gaze fell on the axe in Shepard's hand. "Where did you get that?"

"Oh, this?" Shepard held it out to him. "I caught some Goblins and an Orc breaking into a tomb. I thought it would be a good idea to take this back to your people." She then remembered something. "There was a phrase in your language written over it, but I don't know what it meant."

"Tell me," Gotrek said, an almost feverish light in his eye.

Shepard had memorized the Dwarf letters and drew them out in the dirt with a stick. Gotrek read it, and then his eyebrows rose.

"Unbak Urk—the Foe-Breaker." He stared at Shepard. "You found the axe of Karak Eight Peaks' third king!"

Shepard looked down at the axe—Unbak Urk—in surprise. She'd had no idea the weapon had belonged to royalty!

"Um… wow."

Gotrek blinked, then turned away. Felix, his face now much cleaner, leaned in to whisper in Shepard's ear.

"I can count on one hand the number of people who have impressed him twice in a single day."

"Thanks, I think." Shepard then grinned. "Speaking of being impressed—what you did back there, with the Rat Ogres? _That_ was fucking impressive."

"Well, I do my—" Felix froze when Shepard kissed him on the cheek.

"And that was for coming down here for me," she said, sending a wink his way before putting her helmet back on and running after Gotrek.

Felix followed a moment later, a massive grin on his face.

…

Another two days passed, and the Imperial army was growing frustrated. Belegar had denied their request to join in the first attack, and had told them once again that Shepard was certainly dead.

On top of that, Gettmann had more bad news: he had sensed that the shard was now in Skaven hands, but at least it was still in Karak Eight Peaks. There was a chance that they could still get it.

Without being able to join the Dwarf assault, the Humans could only watch as thousands of the stout warriors prepared to enter the deeps. They remained just outside the Citadel, their handguns and artillery aimed at the entrance to the lower levels; they would cover the Dwarfs as they made their advance, because either the Skaven or the greenskins would surely come out to stop them.

Belegar himself was at the forefront of the army; in the middle was Thorek and his Anvil of Doom, ready to aid his brethren and bring death to the enemy in equal measures. Of the three leaders, Morgrim was elected to stay behind, where he would organize the defense of the surface.

"Advance!" Belegar shouted, his hammer raised high.

At his command, the throng began to march. They were mere yards from the entrance when the Skaven attacked; swarms of giant rats poured from the darkness in waves. Dwarfs withstood the torrent of rodents with unyielding shield walls and gromril, and when they felt that the rats had given their best, axes and hammers swung. Some Dwarfs were brought down by sheer weight, rats chewing at flesh through gaps in armor, but there were those who simply ignored the biting creatures, killing groups while their fellows removed their attackers.

But that was just the first wave. Next came Doomflayers and Doomwheels; these had been predicted by Belegar, and he had prepared accordingly. Organ Guns and Helblasters fired from prepared, elevated positions; the smaller shells ripped through the fragile machines, and only fragments of metal and splinters of wood struck Dwarf shields.

Some of the Humans cheered, but the Dwarfs merely scowled; they knew that there was more to fight. They were proven right when thousands of Skaven charged out of the tunnels, leaping at the Dwarfs in a frenzy. Arrows and bullets rained down on them, but many still reached the Dwarf line. Once again, the fighters brought axe and hammer to bear, and the field became clogged with Skaven bodies.

The hordes of Clanrats were killed or driven back, but the Dwarfs had just moved their own dead when a terrible roar echoed out from the tunnels. Underneath the feet of the Dwarfs closest to the entrance, the ground began to vibrate; a moment later, two enormous monsters dragged themselves into view. They were roughly similar in size and shape, but while one had too many heads, the other had an array of mechanical arms.

"What the hell are those!?" Richter demanded, staring at the monsters in fascination and horror.

The twin Hell Pit Abominations charged the Dwarf line, scattering them like leaves. The Dwarfs and Humans reacted quickly, sending hundreds of bullets and arrows, along with dozens of cannonballs and bolts, into the monsters, but their wounds were either ignored or healed in seconds.

Only when a Flame Cannon was brought to bear did they see any noticeable results. The fire scorched the flesh from upper half of the less mechanical Abomination, and it was finished by a Great Cannon that blew most of its heads off. The other one was eventually brought down by the combined power of three Helblasters and a lightning bolt from Gettmann.

Despite the victory, the Dwarfs did not advance; the Abominations had scattered their lines, killed dozens of Dwarfs each, and many more were injured. The attack would have to be called off until tomorrow.

"Look out!" a Dwarf cried. "One of the beasts is still alive!"

Sure enough, the Abomination that had been riddled with holes began to rise, many of its wounds healing in seconds. The artillery crews were about to fire again when something happened.

Three figures ran out of the darkness; one was a Human with blonde hair and a shining sword, one was a Dwarf Slayer, and the third was—

"It's the General!" Richter cried, pointing at Shepard as she carved a huge gash in the Abomination's side with a glowing axe.

The Imperials heard Richter's words and let out a mighty cheer; against all odds, Shepard had returned! However, they realized that she was too far away for them to help her in this fight; all they could do was watch.

Belegar, on the other hand, was much closer, and led dozens of Ironbreakers against the Abomination. Between the keen blades and powerful runic weapons, the Abomination fell, and didn't rise again.

With a triumphant cheer, the Imperials surged forward to greet their General. Shepard pulled off her helm just as her officers reached her.

"Hey, guys," she said with a grin. "I guess you missed me?"

 **Okay, so there are some things I want to talk about.**

 **First, Skarsnik's death: Let's face it, Skarsnik is awesome, but he's still just a Goblin. Take away his pointy stick and Gobbla, and he's just a really mean Goblin. He's still a great tactician, but Goblins aren't exactly known for their durability. I hope I made his end a good one.**

 **Second, Unbak Urk was something I created using Dwarf language and runes from the tabletop game. Unbak means 'to permanently break' and Urk means 'Orc, darkness, or enemy'. Put together, Unbak Urk literally translates to 'to permanently break enemies', but I like the translation of 'foe-breaker' better. I also made up that thing about it being the weapon of Karak Eight Peaks' third king. I don't even know who the third king was. Now, as for the runes from the game, I gave it the Master Rune of Smiting (D6 wounds per hit), the Rune of Cleaving (armor piercing) and the Rune of Dismay (causes fear). This is all legal in the game. And it's the axe of a king, so it's gotta be awesome. As for how Gotrek knows about it... well, it's very old, _and_ the weapon of a king. I'm sure there are legends of that kind of thing.**

 **Third, of course Shepard was going to make it out alive, but dammit, I wanted Gotrek and Felix to do more awesome stuff. And I am using the word 'awesome' a lot, but I don't care.**

 **Next Chapter: The Skaven possess the shard! Shepard will have to come up with a daring plan to lure both it, and the most dangerous of Skaven Warlords, into the open.**

 **Grimnir gave one of his sacred muffins to his son.**


	13. War of the Peaks, Part 6

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. I THINK WE'RE GOING TO NEED TO BUILD A BETTER MOUSETRAP.**

 **First of all, I want to thank everyone for the absolutely amazing feedback for the last chapter. I'd go so far as to say that it was the best-received so far, and I hope to keep earning that kind of praise for future chapters.**

 **However, one thing kept popping out at me, mostly via PMs. People kept asking me to have Shepard introduce automated weaponry to the Dwarfs. While it is an interesting concept, there's a problem with that: Dwarfs do not innovate quickly, and they don't approve of ideas that come from non-Dwarfs, even if they're good friends. It took them centuries, maybe even longer, to approve the use of gunpowder; now, gunpowder had already been created by them for a** _ **very**_ **long time, but it took** _ **centuries**_ **just to get it approved. Even at the time of this story, many Dwarfs prefer the 'traditional' weapons, such as crossbows, bolt throwers, and catapults. So, yes, Dwarfs with machine guns would be cool, but it wouldn't happen in Shepard's lifetime. If ever.**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 13

War of the Peaks, Part 6

" _I'll say this for the Skaven: if I'd had that kind of information-gathering speed back home, I'd have found out Saren's plans in about five minutes."—General Alexia Shepard_

…

Shepard was tired, hungry, had more cuts and bruises than she'd had in a long time, and all she wanted to do was take a bath for a week. Still, she couldn't keep the massive grin off her face as she entered the throne room of the aboveground Citadel.

Apparently, most of the Dwarfs had been convinced that she had died once Gobbla had swallowed her. She loved proving people wrong.

"General Shepard," Belegar said with a curt nod. "Your soldiers told me several times that you were still alive. Not many can claim to have survived the depths of Karak Eight Peaks, let alone escaped."

"I have a bad habit of cheating death," Shepard replied.

"So it would seem." Belegar stood up from his throne. "I see you brought something back with you."

Shepard's smile dimmed a little as she pulled the runic axe from her belt. "I stopped an Orc from taking this from a tomb. I know that I promised Morgrim that I wouldn't disturb anything belonging to your people, but I figured that it would be better than letting the bad guys keep this." She glanced down at the gleaming axe, then looked back up at Belegar, who was descending the steps. "Gotrek called it Unbak Urk."

Belegar nearly slipped on the last step. He wasn't sure what surprised him more—that Shepard had found such an ancient artifact, or that she'd pronounced its name perfectly. Reverently, he took the axe from her and presented it to Thorek Ironbrow; if anyone could authenticate the weapon, it would be the Dwarf who dedicated his life to recovering lost artifacts.

The Master Runelord turned the axe over in his hands, muttering under his breath as he ran his fingers over ever curve, corner, and etching. Finally, he smiled.

"Aye, this is indeed Unbak Urk," he proclaimed. "It was forged in the time of Karak Eight Peaks' second king, used by his son, and buried with him. It has been over six thousand years since it was held by Dwarf hands."

Shepard's eyes widened; even if the Protheans had made technology that lasted far longer, it was still impressive.

"Oh, I almost forgot," she said, dragging the Dwarfs' eyes from the axe. "I had one other thing to give you."

"Another lost treasure?" Thorek asked, almost hungrily.

Shepard shook her head as she removed a smelly, bloodstained bag from her belt. "No, but I'm sure it'll make some of you very happy."

Turning the bag over, she let the head of Skarsnik fall to the floor; gasps were heard as Dwarfs recognized the face.

"He tried to kill me," Shepard said in a conversational tone. "I took exception to that."

Belegar was silent as he prodded the head with his boot; finally, he crossed his arms. "I had always hoped to be the one to kill him. You are not the only one to escape the maw of his pet Squig."

"You too?" Shepard asked.

"Twice," Belegar said darkly, no doubt remembering both close calls. "Still, I am glad to have proof of his death; many grudges will be struck out this day. It would also explain why the Skaven have been so active; without Skarsnik checking their movements, the stalemate underground has been broken."

"I saw a few battles on my way to the surface," Shepard said. "Most of them had the Skaven going further underground, but I did see a few groups headed to the surface."

"We've dealt with them," Morgrim said, speaking for the first time since Shepard returned. "It's possible that the Skaven want to deal with the _grobi_ before coming after us."

Belegar looked up from the severed head. "Let them come!" he snarled. "One of our great enemies has been defeated, and I intend to see the other fall before the year is out! Prepare for another assault! We march in two days!"

No one questioned the order or objected to it; many of the Thanes left to organize their forces, but Belegar gestured for Thorek, Morgrim, and Shepard to remain.

"I know that you need rest, General, so I will be brief." Belegar tilted his head to look Shepard in the eye. "Are you still willing to fight?"

Shepard met his gaze evenly. "The only way I can ever go home is if I succeed here. I'll fight for as long as it takes."

Belegar nodded. "Very good. When we march on the lower levels, I'll need as many strong arms as I can get, and your soldiers have proven themselves good fighters… for Humans, at least."

"Thanks, I think," Shepard said wryly. "I don't suppose I can get my armor fixed? It's a little banged up."

"I will have that handled for you, General," Morgrim said. "It's the least I can do. Besides, I _did_ say that I would swear loyalty to any friend who killed Skarsnik."

Shepard blinked. "Wha—no, you don't owe me anything!"

"You killed one of the most dangerous greenskins to ever live," Morgrim said. "And I ask that you accept my loyalty. Do not make me an oath-breaker."

Nearby, Belegar and Thorek hid minute flinches, and Shepard realized just how big a deal this was. She held out her hand to the Lord.

"I accept," she said, and two shook hands. "This doesn't mean you're going to follow me around from now on, does it?"

Morgrim shook his head. "No, of course not; I have a duty to Barak Varr. However, if you need my help, I will do so however I can."

Shepard grinned. "I'll be sure to let you know if I need help beating up more Goblins."

"I doubt you'd need it!"

The two laughed, then turned to Belegar and Thorek. "If there's nothing else, Your Majesty, I need to keep my soldiers from partying too hard," Shepard said.

…

"Ow, stop it!"

" _You_ stop!" Parral ordered. "Do you want another scar?"

"It's not like I don't have more," Shepard pointed out, only to be rapped on the head by Parral's staff.

"Stay. Still," the Wizard said. "I need to concentrate on healing you."

Shepard grumbled, but remained motionless as Parral waved his hands over her; as he worked, the gash in Shepard's side closed, and the dozens of minor cuts and bruises faded.

"The fact that you didn't die of infection is a miracle," Parral commented. "Anyone else would have likely died from this wound."

 _Probably because of all those Cerberus upgrades; 'keeping me exactly the same', my ass,_ Shepard thought. Out loud, she said, "Yeah, I know I'm awesome."

Parral rolled his eyes and stepped back. "There, you're done. See, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Shepard childishly stuck out her tongue, then moved behind a curtain, still wrapped in a blanket, to get dressed.

"Did Morgrim say when my armor would be fixed?" she asked as she put clean clothes over her now clean body.

"I believe it would be soon, but he was also grumbling about shoddy workmanship," Parral said.

"Hey! That armor was made by Dwarfs!" Shepard stepped into view, now wearing her usual black tunic, black boots, and grey pants. "I don't care if they live on the surface, those guys make good stuff!"

Parral only rolled his eyes again, but froze when Shepard patted his shoulder. "General?"

"Just wanted to say thanks," she said, "for healing me, and for what you did during the battle, before I got eaten. I saw you save a lot of lives."

Parral blinked several times, then smiled. "It is my calling."

"Well, I wish more Wizards were like you," Shepard said. "Think of how many people that could be helped."

"That is why I brought along so many of my fellows; I wanted to help them improve."

Shepard grinned at the man, then jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "Come on, let's see how well you do with healing hangovers."

In celebration of Shepard's return, some of Morgrim's warriors had shared casks of ale with the Imperials, and there was a lively celebration between Dwarfs and Humans. Shepard's return was one reason for it, but the Dwarfs were also celebrating the death of Skarsnik, which apparently crossed out many grudges that the Dwarfs had recorded over the years. The official count of grudges crossed out was still being tallied, but so far, Skarsnik had been responsible for over two dozen.

"General!" Shepard leaned back to avoid a drunken Richter before he stumbled into her. "Raise a glass, boys! To General Shepard, the woman who escapes death!"

"And kills _grobi_ but good!" a Dwarf added.

"Huzzah!" dozens of men shouted, and downed their ale.

Shepard had already known how strong Dwarf alcohol was, so it wasn't surprising that many of the Humans were out cold. It was a good thing that the Dwarfs had assured her that they didn't mind, or else she wouldn't have let her soldiers drink _in a war zone_.

After carefully getting around Richter, who had impressed nearby Dwarfs by downing his fifth mug of ale, Shepard made her way to Michael, who remained in the far corner of the barracks with his faithful Swordsmen.

"Glad to know there's at least _some_ quiet," Shepard said, then sat next to the priest.

"And we are all glad that you have returned alive, General," Michael replied with a small smile. "It seems that the prayers Sergeant Richter and I said on your behalf were heard."

"Whatever kept me alive down there," Shepard grinned, "I need to send it a fruit basket or something."

For a while, they sat in silence, watching as Dwarfs and Humans alike got into drunken escapades. Finally, Shepard turned to Michael.

"I heard that my little vacation wasn't taken too well by everyone."

Michael nodded. "It was difficult for many, General. You have become something of a symbol—for those who have been with you from the beginning, you are the Middenheim Guardian, the woman officer who would not ask of her men what she would do herself. For those who joined us at Nuln, you are all that, and the one whose innovations are bringing great prosperity to their city. To lose you… it was not an easy burden."

Shepard closed her eyes. "They have to know that they can continue on without me. And by now, most of them know that I'm after these shards so that I can go home. Why would they follow me if my reasons are selfish?"

"Because you are not selfish," Michael said. "If you were, you would not care about aiding the Empire, or fighting alongside these men. If you were truly selfish, you would not be… you."

Shepard smiled. "Thanks. I really needed to hear that."

…

Hours later, when the party had completely died down, Shepard finally found the people she'd been looking for.

"You know, for a Dwarf with the world's biggest mohawk and a guy with hair that practically _glows_ , you two are really hard to find."

Gotrek and Felix broke off their conversation to give her an unamused look. "Now, General, that's just being petty," Felix said in a mock-haughty tone. "There's no need to insult my hair just because you're insecure about yours."

Shepard lightly bopped him on the head, but smiled as she joined them at their small table. The two adventurers had also cleaned up after getting to the surface, though Gotrek's eye patch was still stained with dried blood.

"I just wanted to thank you guys," Shepard said. "For rescuing me, I mean. I'm usually the one doing the saving, not the other way around."

"Like I said, thank him," Gotrek jerked his thumb over at Felix. "He insisted we go save you."

"Right, because you didn't want to owe me." Shepard gave the poet a dry look. "Well, consider that debt paid."

"Well, there's more to it than that!" Felix protested. "I knew you weren't the kind of person to die because of a Squig, that would just be embarrassing! I just didn't expect you to make it so close to the surface by yourself!"

Before Shepard could glare at him some more, Gotrek leaned over to get her attention. "That was clever of you, wrapping yourself in Skaven cloaks. How did you know that would work?"

Shepard gave Felix one last warning look, then turned to the Slayer. "I figured that if I smelled like them, and stayed far enough away that they didn't get a good look at me, they'd ignore me."

"And if they _did_ get close, you had that axe to use on them," Felix said. "It's a shame that you had to give it back."

Shepard sighed at the reminder; when things had calmed down a bit after her return, Richter had given her the remains of her hammer, which had been crushed into a useless piece of junk after it was accidentally trampled by Locke's horses. Shepard didn't have too much attachment to the weapon, but it had served her well for just over a year, and now she needed a new weapon again.

"It's also a shame that the Skaven apparently have the thing you're looking for," Felix went on. "Finding it may be more difficult than imagined."

Shepard groaned. "You know, I was feeling pretty good, and then you started talking."

Felix winced. "Sorry. I just think that this is a good example of a needle in a haystack."

Shepard paused. "Say that again?"

Felix shared a confused look with Gotrek. "This… is an example of a needle in a haystack?"

"Oh. Oh my god." Shepard grinned and stood up. "Felix, you're a genius!"

"I am?" Felix looked surprised.

"He is?" Gotrek looked even more so.

"How do you find a needle in a haystack?" Shepard didn't give them time to answer. "You don't sift through the hay; that would take forever! So you draw out the needle with a magnet!" She kissed Felix, then got up and dashed for the door. "Come on, we need to talk to the king!"

Gotrek and Felix hesitated, then followed after her. "What's a magnet?" Felix asked.

…

It was a good thing that Belegar wasn't sleeping, but poring over ancient maps of Karak Eight Peaks, when his guards informed him that General Shepard wanted to see him immediately.

Belegar still wasn't sure what to make of Shepard. While she was Human, and prone to all the faults that her kind fell prey to, she was… if Belegar were to compare the average Human to an iron bar, then Shepard was steel. Her flaws weren't as prevalent.

Plus, she had killed Skarsnik and returned Unbak Urk to him. That certainly earned an audience.

"It is very late, General," Belegar said, not looking up from his maps as Shepard walked in, followed by Gotrek and Felix. "This had better be important."

"I think I know how to get most of the Skaven in one place." That simple statement made Belegar look up. "And I think I can get them to bring the shard with them."

"That is quite the claim," Belegar said. "Explain yourself."

"Wait." Shepard looked around warily, even glancing at the ceiling. "There's no way a Skaven spy could be listening in on us right now, right?"

"Of course not." Belegar had teams of his best Miners search out every possible way a Skaven could infiltrate the Citadel, had those ways blocked, and then had them checked several times a day.

"Good." Shepard grinned at him; it was a grin that promised misfortune for somebody, and Belegar hoped that that somebody wasn't him. "First, we'll need to create a chokepoint, so that when the Skaven show up, we can kill them in large numbers. But this chokepoint can't _look_ like a chokepoint, and we have to make it look like we're falling back."

Belegar nodded; setting up that kind of fight was something he had much experience with. "Go on."

"After we're ready, we need to spread a rumor."

"A rumor?"

Shepard nodded, so energized that she started to pace. "Have some people stand near the entrance to the tunnels, and they'll start talking about the amazing artifact we discovered, one that will wipe out all your enemies in a single shot."

"We don't have such an artifact," Felix pointed out.

"Of course not." Shepard patted him on the head. "You've already helped, now hush."

Belegar had no idea what Shepard's last statement was about, and decided to ignore it. "I see where this is going. To keep us from using this 'artifact', Queek will send his best fighters to steal or destroy it. But how does this get you the shard?"

Shepard's grin was so large, Belegar wondered if it was starting to hurt. "Those guys who spread the rumor are going to complain about how we can't use the artifact yet, because it's missing a key. This key just so happens to be something that fell from the sky recently." Shepard paused. "Might want to add that whoever uses the key can control what the artifact kills."

"And the Skaven will no doubt bring the shard with them, so that they can use it against us," Belegar finished. "But there's a chance that it won't work."

Shepard shrugged. "There's always a risk of that. Even if they don't bring the shard, they'll still bring a lot of their best forces, and if we can kill their best in the chokepoint, it'll be easier to march in and take at least some of the underground areas back."

Belegar nodded. "I like this plan; either way, we have the advantage in this war. But there's more of a risk that you won't get what you want."

At that, Shepard paused. "Yeah, well… I want to get home, but you already reached _your_ home. You deserve to kick out the squatters."

With his helmet concealing most of his features, Shepard never saw Belegar's eyes go wide. He had assumed that Shepard would put her mission first, or at least put the interests of her people ahead of his. Instead, she had openly admitted that, to her, his needs were of greater importance. His view on Humans was being challenged, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"I will continue to assemble my forces," he said after a moment. "If you are not tired, perhaps you will stay here and explain your plan in greater detail."

That was as close to asking for help any Dwarf would get, and Shepard seemed to understand that. "Of course. Felix, would you make sure to tell Michael that I'll be busy? And make sure that everyone is ready to fight by tomorrow, I don't care if they're hungover."

Felix gave an exaggerated bow. "As you command, General."

Once the poet and his Slayer companion left, Shepard joined Belegar at the collection of maps. She spent a few moments studying the papers, while the fingers on her right hand twitched at random points in the air, as if she was calculating something.

She then pointed to a spot on the map of the surface. "We'll need to shore up fortifications here. How long would it take to dig a trench and fill it with spikes?"

…

The underground passageways were filled with the smell of blood and decaying flesh, but to Queek Headtaker, nothing made him happier. Without Skarsnik to get in his way, the Skaven had overrun one green-thing position after another. Queek may have had to bring in his reserves, and the Night Goblins had put up a good fight, but now the only things that lived under Karak Eight Peaks were the Skaven.

As Queek looked up at the ceiling, he was certain that, soon enough, the Skaven would also be the only things living _on_ Karak Eight Peaks as well. All they had to do was sweep away the hated beard-things, along with the man-things that had joined them.

When Queek had first heard the news of the Humans' arrival, he had been confused. What business did the man-things have all the way out here? He eventually dismissed it; the Empire often did things that made no sense, which was probably why they and the beard-things got along so well.

The Skaven Warlord was about to order his troops to gather up the green-things' meager supplies and weapons, but the arrival of a Clan Eshin assassin stopped him. Queek hated the assassins, and not just because there was every chance that one of them—or all of them—were preparing to kill him. No, he hated them because they got in his way of killing enemy leaders himself, therefore depriving him of the glory and prestige that was rightfully his!

"What you want-need?" Queek demanded. "Mighty Queek Headtaker busy-now killing green-things!"

The Clan Eshin assassin, hidden within his black cloak, made an exaggerated—and to Queek, mocking—bow. "Spies listen-hear to beard-thing secrets. They find old magic-thing, very strong; they look-searching for key now-now!"

Queek's eyes narrowed; beard-thing weapons were always a nuisance. "Speak-tell Queek everything."

A few minutes later, Queek left the cleanup to his lieutenants and retreated to his personal warren. Lining the crude shelves were the heads of enemy champions he'd killed; most of them were from Dwarfs and greenskins, though there was the occasional Human as well. These were casual trophies, however; the ones he treasured most were mounted on the rack on his back. Unlike most times, Queek didn't stop to admire his collection, or listen to their voices, the ones only he could hear; this time, he pulled a simple pouch from his belt and examined the contents.

He still remembered the shrieks the Grey Seers had made when the golden light fell from the sky; it had burned straight through the surface and into an underground chamber. Queek had been chasing down a group of Goblins when he stumbled upon it; though he was no Grey Seer, even he could feel the energy radiating from the sky-thing, enough power to make his whiskers tingle. He had taken it, and though he had no idea what it really was, he wasn't about to let it fall into anyone else's hands.

But if it was the key to securing him ultimate victory…

Queek turned the artifact over in his hands, even as the golden light hurt his eyes. To think that such a small piece of metal would be the key to his ultimate victory. He would gather his armies, and they would swarm over the hated beard-things, finishing them off once and for all. Queek would personally take the head of Belegar and force the dead king to watch as he used his own weapon against him, wiping his people from the face of the world.

…

"Here, hold this steady," Shepard said, pointing to a metal bar before going back to her calculations.

"Yes, General!" several of her men joined a party of Dwarfs to secure yet another trap; it was only one of dozens that they'd set up behind a thick wall.

"Are you sure that this will work?" Skorri asked, unable to hide his scowl, even behind his beard.

"You went over the designs of these with me," Shepard pointed out, doing her best not to glower at the irritating engineer.

"Not the traps, _those_ will work," Skorri said, then gestured in the direction of the tunnels. "The entire plan, I mean."

Shepard thought about it for a second. "All war is based on deception," she said. "If the Skaven bought our little lie, then they'll throw everything they have at us, and we can't stand against those numbers. The only way we're going to survive this is if we do the unexpected."

In fact, the entire plan revolved around doing what the Skaven wouldn't expect. The plan would start with the entire Dwarf host, along with Shepard's army, looking like they were about to fight in the open, even if it was fortified. The Skaven wouldn't care about losses, so long as they won in the end, so they would rush the defenses. It would be then that the Dwarfs would do the one thing that weren't known for.

They would retreat.

To the Skaven, it would look like their enemies were falling back in the face of overwhelming numbers. In truth, they would be moving to a second line, then a third line, before finally digging in at the fourth line, which would be at the gates of the Citadel itself. As soon as each of the first three lines were overrun, the Skaven would fall prey to traps that had been carefully set; those that survived the traps would be under constant fire from rifles, crossbows, and artillery. When it appeared that the Dwarfs no longer had anywhere to run, the Skaven would unleash everything they had; at that moment, the Dwarfs and Humans would use their final trap.

If it worked, it would see tens of thousands of Skaven dead; more importantly, it would see their leaders dead. Like with Orcs and Goblins, killing off the leader of a Skaven host would see the rest of them fall upon themselves in a mad scramble for power. Without a unifying force, the Dwarfs would rout the Skaven.

Of course, this was only if things went according to plan, and Shepard knew how badly that could go awry, so that was why she had a backup plan. It was riskier, sure, but it was either that or resign themselves to death, and Shepard didn't survive the fighting underground just so she could die a few days later.

Skorri grumbled, but although he had grievances with Shepard's engineering methods, her tactics had been supported by King Belegar, Morgrim, and Thorek Ironbrow, though the latter's acceptance had been grudging.

Shepard glanced at the sun; it would set soon. "I need to talk with King Belegar. Do you mind setting up the last traps without me?"

"I think I can manage, manling," Skorri said through gritted teeth.

Shepard normally would have patted him on the arm, or given him some kind of encouragement, but the Dwarf was barely withholding his contempt for her as it was, so she only nodded and walked towards the Citadel.

"General, there you are!" Shepard glanced to the side and saw Felix approach her. "I have been searching for you all day."

"I've been busy," Shepard said. "In case you forgot, we're getting ready for a major battle."

Felix's smile faded. "I haven't forgotten, General. I wanted to make a request, that is all."

Shepard took a deep breath; she knew she shouldn't have snapped at him, but Felix seemed to be getting on her nerves without even saying anything. It wasn't fair to him, especially since Shepard didn't even know _why_ she was mad at him.

"I'm sorry," Shepard said, then took another breath. "What did you want?"

Felix bobbed his head, accepting the apology. "I know that you have a small force preparing to fight the Skaven leaders. I would like to volunteer the services of Gotrek and myself for that mission."

Shepard was surprised and confused—surprised, because Felix was _volunteering_ for a dangerous assignment, and confused because she didn't know why that made her happy.

"Sure, welcome aboard," she said. "Anyone who can kill three Rat Ogres by himself should be useful."

Felix frowned. "General, you were there, you know I killed _four_ of those beasts."

"Nuh-uh," Shepard said with an impish smile. "You _and_ Gotrek took down that last one, so the best you get is three and a half."

There was a wordless sound of protest from Felix, but it only made Shepard laugh.

While Felix left to find his companion, Shepard entered the Citadel and was escorted by a pair of Belegar's Hammerers to the throne room. As usual, Belegar was accompanied by several of his Thanes, Thorek, and Morgrim.

"General," Belegar nodded at her, "how goes the construction?"

"With all the willing hands, we should be done in a few more hours," Shepard reported. "Speaking of volunteers, what numbers are we looking at for the strike force?"

"Around fifty, though we could get more before tomorrow," Belegar said.

"Well, Felix said that he and Gotrek wanted in, so there's two more."

"Excellent." Belegar stroked his beard. "I have seen that Slayer in action before; this task may be easier than we thought."

Shepard made an agreeing noise, then looked at the maps spread out on the table. "And we're sure the Skaven haven't caught on to the plan?"

"I have Rangers keeping an eye on the tunnel entrances," Belegar said. "They swear to me that no Skaven has come within earshot."

"Then I guess we'll find out soon if this gamble pays off."

This aspect of the plan was the riskiest part of the battle, but it also had the biggest payoff. A small group of Dwarfs and Humans would hide in prepared positions, until the Skaven moved up their artillery. Like in Shepard's battle against the Bretonnians, the strike team would attack the war machines once the bulk of the Skaven army was engaged; if all went well, the Skaven would be denied one of the few things that could crack the Dwarf defenses.

At first, Shepard's troops had supported this part of the plan; that changed when she told them that she would be leading the ambush force. Some of the men had come close to mutiny, until Shepard told them that Richter and the Greatswords would be coming with her. Considering that the Sergeant and every one of his men had sworn to die before letting Shepard fall, it had placated the other soldiers. They felt even better when Locke and some of his cavalry were added to the force.

The meeting began to wind down as various Thanes began discussing logistics, but Morgrim shared a brief look with Belegar and Thorek before getting Shepard's attention.

"General, there are two matters that need to be addressed," he said. "First, your armor has been repaired."

"Oh, thanks!" Shepard grinned at him. "I was going to ask about that. What was the other thing?"

"I am aware that you still do not have a weapon," Belegar said, getting a reluctant nod from Thorek. "As such, I am willing to let you use this."

Shepard's eyes went wide as Belegar brought out Unbak Urk from behind him. The runic axe had been cleaned of blood and dust, and it gleamed in the light from the wall-mounted braziers. The Dwarf King held the axe out to her.

"Since you have already wielded it, I believe that it is in good hands."

Shepard accepted the axe, totally unprepared for such a gift. Even if it was just for this battle, she knew that it required quite a lot of faith for a Dwarf to let someone else use the weapon of an honored ancestor.

"Thank you," Shepard said. "I promise to put it to good use."

"Cleave a hundred Skaven with it, and I may think you're enough of a Dwarf to _keep_ it," Belegar said with a grim sort of amusement.

Shepard grinned and leaned the axe against her shoulder. "Challenge accepted."

Belegar banged his fist against the table, shocking the Dwarfs who hadn't known about this development out of their stupor.

"One way or another, this battle will decide the fate of Karak Eight Peaks," the King said, his voice echoing through the room. "Prepare your warriors, keep your axes close, and may Valaya keep you safe."

…

"So, this is it, General?" Locke smiled tiredly. "This battle will be our last here?"

"Like King Belegar said, one way or another," Shepard replied. "Personally, I look forward to getting what we came for and going back to the Empire. I don't know about you, but I'm looking forward to going back to Nuln; the mountains are nice, but there's just too many things trying to kill me."

"Agreed," Locke said. "I intend on going to the local taverns and wooing the barmaids with tales of my valor."

"Just remember to add ten percent to your kill-count in those stories," Shepard said. "It adds to the bravery."

"Why, General!" Locke held his hand over his heart. "I cannot believe you would accuse me of exaggerating my skill! I fully plan on _earning_ my praise."

Shepard snickered, then went back to polishing her armor. The Dwarf smiths who had returned it to her had already polished it, but it gave Shepard something to do before the battle; normally, she would have spoken to her officers as a way to occupy her thoughts, but the hall they used as a barracks was too large, and she'd lost track of them.

Thankfully, it seemed that they planned on coming to her.

A few minutes after Locke left to get some sleep, Michael approached. "Your thoughts are heavy, General. I would listen to your troubles, if you would tell me of them."

"I didn't know you did confessionals," Shepard said, then sighed. "I'm just worried about this plan. I _think_ it will work, but there's every chance that I'm about to get everyone here killed. I hate it when my soldiers die, but it's worse when they die because I made a mistake."

Michael nodded. "You must remember, General, that these men volunteered to join your army. They will follow you the darkest pits, not necessarily because of your skill, but because you have these thoughts. You care for those under you, and they, in turn, will never falter under your gaze."

When the Warrior Priest left, Shepard wasn't sure if his comments made her feel better or worse, but her next visitor made her smile.

"I just healed you up," Parral said sternly. "If you get yourself killed, I will be very cross that you wasted my time."

"And if I come back wounded, you'll nag my ear off." Shepard rolled her eyes. "There's just no winning with you."

"Of course there is," Parral said. "Just don't get hurt."

"I'll do my best." Shepard took another piece of armor off the rack and began polishing it. "Just make sure you keep as many of our boys alive as you can. I get a feeling that we're going to have a lot of wounded, even if the plan goes perfectly."

"Then I shall take my leave," Parral said, getting up. "If I am going to be so busy, I should get my rest."

Shepard chuckled, and continued to do so until she caught sight of Gettmann's robes. "I hope your next vision doesn't include teeth."

"I have had no clear visions since then, General," Gettmann said calmly. "However, I believe that we are on the right path."

"That's good to know."

"I would also like to offer my services in ambushing the artillery." Shepard whipped her head around to look at the Wizard fully. "From what I have gathered, the Skaven employ magic-users of their own; if we encounter one, I will do my best to disrupt his magic long enough for someone to kill him."

"And I wouldn't mind if you softened up the bad guys with some lightning," Shepard said, then patted the man on the shoulder. "Just don't get yourself killed. You're the only one who knows what we're looking for."

"You still intend on finding the shard, even if it is not at the battle?"

"Unless something's changed, I need _all_ of the shards if I want to get home," Shepard reminded him. "If I let this one go, I might as well give up."

Gettmann smiled; it was an earnest smile, not the sleepy or mysterious ones he was known to wear. "Once again, General, you renew my belief that volunteering for your army was a wise choice."

Shepard blinked as the Wizard left; she hadn't known that he'd volunteered. She was still somewhat dazed when Richter sat down heavily beside her, a dark scowl on his face.

"I'm not leaving your side."

"Huh?"

Richter glared at her. "You were right next to me when I thought you'd… when you went missing. I failed in my duty to protect you, and I won't fail again. I just wanted to let you know that."

Shepard sighed. "Well, I just want _you_ to know that if you get yourself killed when you didn't have to, you will be in huge trouble."

Richter tried to maintain his scowl, but it was spoiled when the corner of his lip twitched upwards. "Very well, General, but I still won't let you out of my sight."

"Only in a fight," Shepard warned as Richter got up. "I don't need you watching me in my sleep."

Richter made a vague noise as he left, but before Shepard could go after him to get a solid answer, she almost ran into Gotrek.

"General," he said with a nod. "I wanted to ask you something."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Sure, go ahead."

"During the battle, if you see me fall…" Gotrek looked around, as if searching for something, then turned back to her. "I want you to make sure that Felix survives."

Shepard blinked in surprise. "Um, okay?"

Gotrek seemed to sense the unspoken question. "He will be free from his oath as soon as he finishes writing my tale. He cannot do that if he dies, and I do not want him to die an oath-breaker."

Shepard knew about Gotrek's desire to die in battle, so she bit back her urge to tell him to be careful. "Just make sure that you make it a good ending to tell."

Gotrek met her eyes for a long time, then cracked the smallest of smiles. "I will."

Her issues with Richter now forgotten, Shepard went back to polishing her armor; she was so lost in thought that she jumped when a hand fell on her shoulder.

"Dammit, Felix!" she hissed, glaring at the poet. "Do I need to put a bell on you or something!?"

"Would that mean that you'd keep me around?" Felix asked, then ducked as Shepard swatted him.

"I'm not answering that," Shepard growled, then resumed polishing. By the time she'd finished the last piece, Felix still hadn't said anything. "Did you want something, or are you trying to sleep here, because let me tell you, that isn't happening."

"I would offer you wine, first," Felix said, then sighed. "It seems that I have a problem, General. I was wondering if you could help me find a solution."

Shepard was about to make a snarky comment, but she saw that Felix had a serious expression on his face. "What's wrong?"

"I have some unintended competition." Shepard raised an eyebrow and gestured for him to explain. "I know that Richter has sworn to protect you; however, I would like the honor of fighting by your side."

"Ugh, men," Shepard groaned, throwing her hands up. "If you guys haven't figured out by now that I can take care of myself, you'll never learn."

She was debating whether to storm off or just kick the man out of her curtained-off quarters, but Felix put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"This is not about a man protecting a woman," he said, his tone completely sincere. "This is about knowing what kind of person you are—you throw yourself into danger, almost as if you don't care about the risk to yourself. All I want is to make sure that you come back from this battle alive; it will be hard to return to your home if you die, after all." He shrugged. "Besides, I've lost too many friends over the years; I would like to make sure that I don't lose another."

Shepard stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "Just don't get into a fight with Richter, or I'll have to explain to King Belegar why I used his ancestor's axe on you guys."

Felix smiled; before he left, he placed a chaste kiss on her cheek. "Goodnight, General."

"You're not one of my soldiers," Shepard blurted out, "you can call me Alexia."

Felix looked back at her and nodded. "Then goodnight… Alexia."

Shepard waited until he was gone before her hand went to her face; the heat confirmed that she was blushing, and she was positive that Felix had noticed.

"Son of a bitch," she muttered, and lay down on her cot.

She shoved aside thoughts of attractive poets; she could worry about her damn feelings once the battle was over.

…

The next day passed without incident, but Belegar was certain that the Skaven would attack that evening at the latest. The assembled Dwarfs were prepared at the first defensive line, with the rightful King of Karak Eight Peaks at the very front; the other positions were manned by Thunderers and Quarrelers, who would cover their brethren as they retreated. In the final line, most of Shepard's army waited; their task was to guard the artillery and cover the Dwarfs as they reached them. Among them was Thorek Ironbrow, who had brought along his Anvil of Doom, a potent magical artifact that would help his friends and kill his enemies.

Shepard and her force—Richter and the Greatswords, Locke and his cavalry, Gettmann, Gotrek and Felix, and a score of Hammerers—waited patiently outside the largest tunnel, the only one that would fit war machines of sufficient size. It was a small ledge that had once held a watchtower, but that had been destroyed centuries ago; now, however, there was a rough trail that led to the mouth of the tunnel, which Shepard's force would use to ambush the artillery as it passed.

For the last six hours, the ambushers alternated between short naps and checking their wargear. Shepard was no exception, though she was annoyed that her pistol had to be left behind; without any of her custom cartridges left, it was nothing but dead weight.

After the sixteenth inspection of her armor, shield, and Unbak Urk, Shepard was starting to get a little stir-crazy; thankfully, she found a source of entertainment in Balric Alriksson, the leader of the Hammerer detachment. Through marriage, he was a distant relative to Belegar's wife, and had studied the history of Karak Eight Peaks' most famous treasures. One of those treasures happened to be Unbak Urk, and in exchange for letting him hold the axe for a few moments, Shepard was told some of the deeds committed with the weapon.

"… and that was how the horde of Cracktoof was vanquished," Balric concluded, then looked longingly at the axe. "You hold a legend in your hands, General."

"I'm starting to get that," Shepard said, staring at Unbak Urk as it lay across her legs. "I hope retaking Karak Eight Peaks would be a good way to honor it."

Balric grinned; he was young, for a Dwarf—only ninety years old—and though his beard barely reached his chest, he had earned his position due to his exceptional skill. His youth seemed to shine through whenever he looked at Unbak Urk, however, and seemed determined to fight harder out of mere proximity to the weapon.

The Dwarf looked ready to launch into another story, but he and everyone else froze when Gettmann violently twitched.

"I can sense it," he muttered, almost to himself. "So much warpstone… it screams and twists the Winds of Magic." He looked up at them. "They are coming."

Seconds later, Shepard heard the sound of countless feet running across stone, of chittering voices, and the rasp of rusty armor as it moved.

There were so many Skaven that they practically burst from the tunnels, an endless torrent that flooded towards the barricades and earthworks. Even the largest Skaven army Shepard had seen underground paled in comparison to the horde that emerged; there had to be over fifty thousand so far, and they were only _Skavenslaves_!

Shepard didn't realize she was shaking until the edge of her shield bumped her knee. This… was going to be more of a challenge than she thought.

 **So… shit, I don't care what kind of weapons and allies I have, if I find myself outnumbered a thousand to one, I am going to be nervous, and so would any sane person. I don't really have much to say about this chapter, seeing as how it's just preparing for the final battle.**

 **Well, I do have** _ **one**_ **thing to say about this chapter: Shepard is** _ **not**_ **in love with Felix. She barely knows him, has only recently been able to see the good qualities he has, and she's too jaded and cynical to be swept off her feet like that. At best, this is friendship and physical attraction, maybe a little crush. Whether that will change in the future… well, that's for me to know and you to find out.**

 **Next Chapter: The final battle for Karak Eight Peaks! Shepard may have a plan, but will it stand up to the ferocity of Queek Headtaker?**

 **I am Grombrindal, the White Dwarf, the grudgekeeper and the reckoner, and my Muffin is eternal.**


	14. War of the Peaks, Part 7

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. IF YOU'RE AFRAID OF RATS, THIS CHAPTER IS NOT FOR YOU. OR MAYBE IT IS, SINCE PEOPLE ARE KILLING RATS.**

 **Here it is, the climax of this campaign! Expect lots of explosions, gunfire, and Skaven getting hit with hammers and axes. For Karak Eight Peaks!**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 14

War of the Peaks, Part 7

" _What was my first thought when I saw all those Skaven? Well, I remember thinking that there weren't nearly enough mousetraps in the world, and that I should do something about that."—General Alexia Shepard_

…

The evening sky was lit up with fire and screams. Thousands of Skaven corpses were burning as the Flame Cannons and Irondrakes went about their grim task, but thousands more Skaven poured over the smoldering bodies. Some of them caught on fire as they tried to pass, but the ones behind them merely shoved them out of the way or outright killed them from behind.

Shepard had been informed that the Skaven didn't do that out of mercy; they just took any and every opportunity to stab each other in the back.

An hour into the fighting, and still the Dwarfs had only faced Skavenslaves and the occasional pack of Clanrats who'd been unlucky enough to be included in the assault. With so many Skaven on the field already, it was hard to tell just how many had fallen, but Shepard estimated that at least ten thousand were dead. There were so many Skaven that the gunners and ranged units barely had to aim; all they really had to do was point in their general direction and fire, and they would be almost guaranteed to hit something.

"You know what the good thing about all this is?" Balric said grimly, his earlier youthful enthusiasm long gone.

"There's a good side to this at all?" Shepard asked, then decided to humor him. "Okay, other than killing a metric shit-ton of your enemies, what's the good thing?"

"All of our artillery will be completely stress-tested."

Shepard did her best to turn her laugh into a cough. At first, she thought that Richter was doing the same thing, but then she saw his face scrunch up in disgust.

"Sigmar save us, that is an _awful_ smell," he muttered. "Well, it's not as bad as Middenheim, but still…"

"Put your helmet on, it'll help," Shepard said, having put on her wolf-helm just before the first Flame Cannons opened fire.

Richter nodded and put on his closed helm; Shepard noticed that he relaxed just a fraction.

"I hope we have enough ammunition to handle all of them," Felix said idly; unlike most of them, he didn't have anything to block the smell, but if the books were even half true, he'd probably faced far worse over the years.

"King Belegar has carefully stockpiled shot and shell for just such an occasion," Balric said confidently. "And the supplies from Barak Varr and Karak Azul help even more."

"So does that," Shepard added, pointing as two of her Helblasters fired a cluster of shots into the Skaven ranks, killing scores of the tightly-packed slaves.

As devastating as the barrages were, Shepard knew that they weren't doing damage to the right targets. So far, none of the important Skaven had shown up—not a single Grey Seer, Chieftain, any artillery, and especially Queek Headtaker himself. Still, this was fairly standard Skaven tactics, just on a scale that Shepard had never seen before.

The good news was that, due to the poor quality of the Skavenslaves, the defenders were able to hold them back with ranged weapons alone. The Flame Cannons were particularly effective at not only killing swathes of Skaven, but sending many more into a panicked retreat. Though thousands of Skaven had died to their enemies, many more had been killed by the ranks behind them.

When Shepard remarked on that, a Dwarf joked that, on a good day, the Skaven would do half the work for them.

Despite the massacre going on below them, Shepard was still worried. If something went wrong and the Skavenslaves appeared to be overwhelming them, the Dwarfs would have to retreat to the second line early, and waste the traps on the cannon fodder. The purpose of the traps was to take out groups of the more elite forces, like Stormvermin, Rat Ogres, and some of the close-range war machines. Every trap that wasn't used against those was a chance for more Dwarf casualties.

"Is it just me," Felix said, his voice casual, "or does it look like there are less of the chaff coming from the tunnels?"

Shepard glanced at him, then shifted her gaze to the tunnels. There was enough light from the burning corpses that, combined with her helmet's enchantments, let her see fairly well; sure enough, the constant stream of Skavenslaves was a fraction of what it was at the beginning of the battle. There were still many thousands of them left, but if enough could be broken and forced to flee, it would give the defenders a short reprieve.

"Wait." Shepard slid down the trail to get a closer look. "Oh, goddammit!"

"General, what is it?" Locke asked as he caught up to her on foot.

"Looks like the reason the Skavenslaves are slowing down is because the real fight's about to start," Shepard said grimly. "They're bringing out the big guys."

Locke followed her gaze, and immediately saw what she was talking about. Hundreds of Stormvermin were massing just outside the tunnels, and behind them were dozens of Rat Ogres. If the Skavenslaves were meant to bog down the defenders, this was a shock force, meant to pierce through the lines.

"They won't be able to retreat and use the traps while they're fighting the slaves," Shepard said to the others as she rejoined them.

"The numbers have to be thinned out enough first," Balric finished, having faced tactics like this before.

Shepard nodded. "Signal the Citadel to begin the airstrike."

A Dwarf in the back of the group raised a lantern housed within a special shutter; he opened and closed it several times. A few seconds later, a light near the top of the Citadel blinked in the same pattern; the message had been received by the spotters whose job was to keep an eye on the team for just such an occasion.

Aside from preparing to ambush the artillery and whatever Skaven leaders they could find, Shepard's group also acted as a spotter, to find the perfect time to unleash the combined air forces of Karak Eight Peaks, Karak Azul, and Barak Varr. When the Skaven reached the defenses, they would be too close to the Dwarfs to risk a bombing run; they would likely only get one shot, and they would have to make it count.

With a thumping noise that could be heard even over the sound of the cannons, dozens of Gyrocopters flew ahead of fifteen Gyrobombers. The smaller Gyrocopters split into two groups and flew over the Skaven flanks before they swooped in low, both so they could drop their smaller bombs with greater accuracy, and so that they could bathe the Skaven with waves of steam. Hundreds of Skaven were killed in seconds, and those that didn't flee from the devastating attack huddled closer to the center, away from the Gyrocopters.

And that was right where the Gyrobombers wanted them. Clustered together so tightly, the bombers couldn't miss their targets; limbs and heads were separated from bodies as the Grudgebuster bombs did their bloody work. It wasn't clear how many the airstrike had killed, but it was certainly effective; Shepard could see the ground again, even if it was scorched and covered in gore.

All the while, the front ranks of the Skaven horde had been getting hammered by bullets, arrows, and artillery. The cowardly Skavenslaves could handle no more, and finally retreated en masse in a mad scramble, killing each other in their efforts to escape. The defenders let them go; it was Skaven policy to slaughter retreating slaves anyway, which would only make their job easier.

If it was any other situation, Shepard would have been satisfied with the destruction. However, that was just the opening move; the Skaven had many more cards to play.

…

"Foolish, useless slaves!" Queek raged when he was told of the first wave's failure. "Stupid beard-things were not even push-moved for a moment!"

"Great Warlord Queek Headtaker," a Grey Seer, one whose name Queek hadn't bothered learning, leaned forward on his staff. "Perhaps now would be time to surprise-scare the beard-things with the _real_ forces."

"Shut up, stupid-fool!" Queek snarled, though managed to restrain himself from actually striking the Grey Seer. "Queek knows this already. Bring up the beasts and send them behind the Stormvermin, do it now-now!"

The Grey Seer bowed—definitely mocking him, but Queek was too busy on the battle to worry about plotters right now—and waved his staff at several figures deeper within the tunnels. A moment later, three Hell Pit Abominations moaned and hissed as they lumbered forward. Queek watched the beasts move up and smiled wickedly.

It didn't matter if the beard-things went after the Abominations or the ranks of Stormvermin; either way, Queek would finally claim Karak Eight Peaks.

…

"Just like the cheeky bugger," Belegar muttered into his beard. "Queek is sending the tougher ones now."

Beyond his usual Dwarf bluster, Belegar knew that Queek was no strategic genius. He made up for his unoriginal plans with large numbers and an unusual fury that made him a true threat. Belegar was just thankful that, with Skarsnik dead, the Skaven were only a moderate danger, even if they outnumbered his forces a hundred times over.

"My King, the Rat Ogres are advancing," a Thane said, somewhat unnecessarily.

"I can see that," Belegar said, though he didn't sound upset at the other Dwarf. "They're being sent to tie us up while the Stormvermin and whatever else Queek has for us get assembled. Have the Organ Guns and those newfangled manling cannons target the Rat Ogres. I want everyone else to hold their fire until I give the order."

The Thane nodded and waved his banner in a series of deft maneuvers. Dwarfs across the fortifications spread the message, while those stationed near the Humans translated for them. Despite the usual mistrust of non-Dwarfs, the hosts of Karak Eight Peaks, Karak Azul, and especially Barak Varr, all had to admit that the Imperials were fighting with unusual zeal. Many Dwarfs believed that it was because the Skaven had tried to kill General Shepard multiple times—even before the Humans had set out on their mission—and had taken umbrage to that.

Belegar mused that his people might be having a good influence on the Humans after all.

He had no more time to think on that, however, because the Rat Ogres entered the outermost range of the guns. Belegar raised a fist, and the Thane who carried his banner tensed, but the King did not give the order to fire. He waited for several seconds, allowing the gunners precious time to adjust their aim.

Belegar dropped his fist. "Fire!"

Seconds later, a staccato of shots rang out from the Dwarf lines; fist-sized balls crashed into the Rat Ogres, blowing holes in torsos, severing limbs and heads, even sending a few flying through the air from multiple impacts. Over half of the Rat Ogres were slain, and many of the rest were wounded, but they still charged; Belegar would have approved of their tenacity if they weren't so intent on killing his people.

"Quarrelers!" he barked, and the banner waved again. Hundreds of arrows whizzed over the barricades and low walls in a rain of wood and iron tips; those Rat Ogres that weren't immediately killed by the barrage managed only a few more steps forward before they finally died.

Belegar barely had time to feel satisfied before several thousand Stormvermin poured out of the tunnels to join those already outside, followed by a trio of Hell Pit Abominations. If Queek hadn't been serious about this battle before, he was now; Belegar had lost count of the times he'd faced a mass Stormvermin charge, which Queek would inevitably be part of. Hopefully, this would be the last time he fought against the accursed Warlord.

"Have the artillery in the first and second levels pull back to the level behind them," he ordered. "Once the Skaven and their monsters advance, have everyone else fall back as well."

The Thane nodded and waved his banner. Artillery crews scrambled to move their weapons and ammunition back, while the infantry eased back from bracing stances and glanced to their unit leaders, waiting for the signal to move.

With the artillery still being moved, they were unable to help when the Stormvermin and Abominations began to charge. Quarrelers and Thunderers in the back ranks opened fire on the approaching mass, but there were simply too many Skaven, and the monsters were too tough to be brought down by such small weaponry. A few cannons and Grudge Throwers in the very back added what fire they could, but none of them were equipped to deal with the level of force that was headed to the Dwarf lines.

Still, Belegar had another card to play as his troops began to fall back to the second line, and he waved his hammer at Thorek Ironbrow. The stern Runelord waved his anvil-headed hammer back, then turned his full attention to the large Anvil of Doom that rested before him. His hammer swung down, striking the correct runes, and even Belegar could feel the gathering power. A moment later, large cracks appeared in the stone just in front of the Skaven advance, which then vomited forth gouts of fire and magma; this sudden counterattack killed hundreds of Stormvermin in an instant and made the rest hesitate for just a moment, even though the cracks had already sealed back up.

Belegar had to smile; just because the traps that Shepard had designed were to be the main way to even the playing field didn't mean he had to rely solely on them.

Startled though they were, the Stormvermin rallied and continued their assault; for their part, the Abominations weren't even fazed, and kept on moving as if nothing had happened. Once they had relocated further back, Dwarfs and Humans alike resumed firing on the Skaven horde, determined to make the enemy pay for every inch of ground.

Finally, the Skaven reached the abandoned first line of fortifications. Leaping over the low walls, the Stormvermin fell headlong into a trench filled with wooden stakes. Hundreds of them died in the opening seconds, and many more died from tripping on the dead and impaling themselves, or by trying to stop and being crushed to death by the Skaven behind them. Their charge broken, the Stormvermin milled about, trying to collectively decide whether to run or continue the attack.

The Abominations were either unaffected by the stakes that dug into their feet, tails, and underbellies, or just ignored them as they moved forward. But Shepard had anticipated this, and she and Belegar had come up with yet more traps. Spare Grudgebuster bombs had been partially buried with their noses up, marked by tarp over them to make sure that someone didn't accidentally set them off. They had been scattered fairly evenly, but close enough that when one Abomination set off a group, it set off a chain reaction across the entire line.

With an explosion that rocked the entire surface of Karak Eight Peaks, hundreds of bombs turned almost every Skaven into charred pieces of meat and shards of armor. Even the Abominations had been so thoroughly pummeled that they couldn't regenerate.

The Dwarfs let out a cheer, as did the Humans. The first line had served its purpose as both an initial defensive position and as a weapon. If they were lucky, they would drain the Skaven army to the point that they could advance and take the fight to them.

Of course, as Belegar gazed out at the cratered remains of the first line, he realized that his people's counterattack might be slowed. Navigating through the holes in the ground would be tricky.

…

"Oh, that was fucking beautiful!" Shepard cried, pumping a fist; normally, she wouldn't have raised her voice when she was trying to be hidden, but the echoes of the explosions and the screams of dying Skaven were so loud that she could have screamed at the top of her lungs, and only those standing next to her would have heard anything.

"Well, General, for someone who spends her time making sure things _don't_ explode, you do a very good job of doing otherwise," Richter commented.

Shepard grinned at him. "Hey, I gotta balance it out somehow, right?"

"Shame about all the resources that went into building those barricades," Balric said, though he was smiling broadly.

"Hey, the Skaven have all that rusty metal, right?" Shepard crossed her arms. "Melt that down, and you'll have a lot of materials to work with."

"Do you know how long it takes to remove the impurities in Skaven work?" Balric's tone was incredulous, but his smile never faded.

"I'm sure it'll be worth it." Shepard returned her focus to the battle when she spotted more Skaven exiting the tunnels. "Damn it, how many of them are left?"

"I've gone through Karak Eight Peaks before," Gotrek said gruffly. "From what I've seen, I'd say that Queek has used up all his fodder. He'll have to either send in his elites and his reserves from now on, or retreat and send for reinforcements."

"And if he thinks that we have a weapon that will wipe him out, he may decide to risk it," Felix added. "Besides, I've heard enough about this particular Skaven to know that he's not the type to retreat or call for help unless he thinks he has no choice."

Shepard nodded. "If he shows up, and the front lines do enough damage to his forces, we could cut him off."

"Possibly," Gotrek allowed, though there was a light in his eye at the mention of killing Queek. "We still need to take care of any artillery first."

"Right, those might trip the explosives early," Shepard said. That was why her force had to move fast to destroy the artillery once it appeared; a stray shot could end up destroying most of the Dwarf army, as well as the other Imperials.

"When _is_ the artillery going to show up?" Locke asked. "I'm starting to believe that we'd be better off back with the main army."

Gettmann suddenly lurched forward, his face going white; near the beginning of the battle, Shepard had learned that more than a few Wizards had this sort of reaction when near larger amounts of warpstone.

"I'm guessing… now," Shepard said, pointing at the tunnels.

Right behind several thousand Clanrats and hundreds more Stormvermin, dozens of war machines were rolled into position. Most were Doomwheels that would accompany the infantry, but there were eight large cannons that looked particularly worrisome. They were huge, easily twice the height of a Rat Ogre and nearly as long as a Hell Pit Abomination. None of them were built quite the same way, but the front was mounted with some kind of glassy crystal, while the back was a massive chunk of green warpstone that was connected to the cannon—or whatever it was—via copper tubes. A small crew of Skaven pushed each weapon into place, then hesitantly turned knobs and pulled levers; the weapons began to hum and vibrate, and some began emitting green sparks.

"Looks like that's our cue," Shepard said grimly, spinning Unbak Urk in her hands to warm up her muscles. "Let's get ready to break some Skaven shit."

Balric grinned. "I'll drink to that, General."

…

"They're starting to reach us!" Morgrim shouted as he brought his axe down on another Skaven. "Should we fall back to the third line?"

"No!" Belegar snarled when a halberd scraped across his shield, then killed the offending weapon's owner with a single blow. "We have to save the traps for meaningful targets!"

"There are a thousand Stormvermin bearing down on us!" Morgrim protested.

Belegar actually smiled. "Until they're wearing red armor, I'm not concerned about this scum. Just keep watch for those; that's when the _real_ fight starts!"

Morgrim only huffed as he cleaved through a group of screaming Clanrats; if it weren't for the fact that Belegar was fighting such a hated enemy, Morgrim would have sworn that the King was enjoying himself. Then again, it was only a few days ago that Skarsnik's head was dropped before the rightful ruler of Karak Eight Peaks, and over two dozen grudges were erased. Many Dwarfs were starting to feel something that their people hadn't felt in a very long time.

Hope.

 _And a Human helped spark it,_ Morgrim mused. _It's like that thing with Sigmar all over again._

…

"Wait for it… wait for it…" Shepard had a feral grin on her face as she launched herself down the hill. "Charge!"

Roaring battle cries, Dwarfs and Humans followed after her. The Imperials quickly overtook their shorter allies, but the Dwarfs' endurance would ensure that they would keep fighting long after the Humans were exhausted.

Locke and his cavalry claimed the first kills of the strike, blowing away the crew of the first Warp Lightning Cannon before they could fire. Shepard swung Unbak Urk into the cannon itself, the ancient weapon shearing through the shoddy workmanship of the Skaven like it wasn't even there. The Greatswords hacked the wooden frame of the cannon into kindling, though they made sure to avoid the warpstone as it fell to the ground.

By the time the first cannon was destroyed, the other crews and their guards were scrambling to meet the threat, but Shepard's force had surprise and determination on their side, while the Skaven were unprepared and demoralized by seeing thousands of Skaven corpses with so little gain.

Shepard was a whirlwind of death, her new axe tearing Skaven apart, or driven back by its terrifying aura. Those she didn't kill were torn apart by bullets, blades, and hammers. Near her, Gotrek and Felix were an unstoppable force, their teamwork so perfect that the Skaven couldn't hope to touch either of them.

Just as the group was about to hit the next cannon, they heard the sound of thunder, but it was not a natural kind. Even Shepard, who had no affinity for magic, could sense the growing power from behind her; glancing over her shoulder, she saw Gettmann holding his staff in the air with both hands. The man was surrounded by a blue aura, which only grew stronger as clouds gathered overhead. Then, he brought his staff down with enough force to crack the stone he stood upon; at the same time, a small comet plunged through the clouds overhead, smashing apart two cannons, dozens of Skaven, and knocking over anyone too close to the impact.

"Holy shit," Shepard breathed, "I didn't know he could do _that_."

With only a few cannons left, the strike force was feeling optimistic; to many of them, it was only a matter of time until the last ones were destroyed. Even Shepard felt like victory was within reach.

That hope soon turned to horror when three of the cannons began to hum and vibrate; a moment later, three massive bolts of green lightning lanced out. One of them went wildly off-course, crashing into a group of Stormvermin and a pair of Doomwheels, and another all but obliterated a regiment of Ironbreakers. While the third didn't hit a Dwarf or a Human, it hit a far more vulnerable target—a cluster of explosives.

With a blast that could be heard over the sound of shrieking Skaven, the first explosion set off a chain-reaction that detonated several more. Hundreds of armored bodies hurtled through the air, and nearly a quarter of the Dwarf line was suddenly broken. To their credit, the survivors rallied and made a fighting withdrawal, but with an obvious gap in the line, the Skaven now had a visible target. Hundreds of Stormvermin charged into that gap, and though the Dwarfs fought valiantly to repel them, there simply weren't enough left to hold the line.

Belegar quickly realized the threat this posed. If too many Skaven got into the fortifications, they could roll up on the Dwarf flank and prevent an orderly retreat to the third line. Belegar directed several regiments of Irondrakes and a few Flame Cannons to the breach in the line to flush out the Skaven, but decided to begin the withdrawal to the third line for everyone else.

Shepard knew that they couldn't let the Skaven get another shot off, especially if they realized that they didn't necessarily need to hit the Dwarf line in order to break it. Shepard directed Locke and his cavalry to hit the furthest cannon and the Dwarfs to go after the closest one; the one in the center was targeted by Shepard herself, along with Richter's Greatswords, Gotrek, Felix, and Gettmann, who chased after the group with ragged breath. It didn't take long for the remaining cannons to be destroyed, but the strike force had a new problem: they had to now rejoin the Dwarf line, or be overwhelmed by the next wave of Skaven.

With Gettmann so exhausted, Shepard heaved him onto a Pistolier's horse so that the Wizard wouldn't be left behind. She then led the infantry in a fighting withdrawal to the main army, skirting around the Skaven, who were too distracted to notice the much smaller group. By the time they arrived, the Dwarfs had almost finished falling back to the third line.

"The artillery is destroyed," Shepard reported when she got within shouting distance of Belegar. The Dwarfs who heard her let out a brief cheer.

Belegar nodded at her. "Good to know. Queek isn't a fan of long-range combat, so I wouldn't be surprised if that was his best option. Still, I'm certain that we've got more work to do."

Shepard hesitated, then walked close enough so that only the King could hear her. "I'm sorry about the explosion."

There was a brief pause, and then Belegar sighed. "If that's the worst thing that happens today, I'll consider us fortunate."

"My King!" a Dwarf Thane shouted, "Red Stormvermin were spotted massing outside the tunnels!"

Belegar swore in his native tongue for several seconds. "Well, looks like Queek is coming out to play. Those red rats are his elite guard, and he's bound to throw in something else to ruin our day."

A deep roar echoed across the mountaintops; alongside the red Stormvermin, several Hell Pit Abominations crawled onto the field. Behind them was a mass of Clanrats that surrounded a wheeled wooden structure; on top of it was a rusty bell, upon which perched a Grey Seer that waved a gnarled staff wildly.

Belegar actually laughed for a moment. "See what I mean? This is where things get interesting… oh, Grimnir damn it."

"What?" Shepard peered into the distance, trying to pierce the darkness. "Did you see something else?"

"I saw _him_ ," Belegar snarled. "I saw Queek."

In the light of an exploding Doomwheel, Shepard saw him too. Bigger than any Skaven she'd ever seen, Queek Headtaker was standing just behind the first regiment of his Stormvermin. Like them, his armor was red, but he had a massive rack of spikes on his back that held half a dozen skulls; he was armed with a barbed sword in one hand, and a strange weapon that looked like a cross between a maul and a pickaxe.

"Well, this is going to be interesting," Shepard muttered to herself.

…

Even as he urged his troops for another attack, Queek was raging. Never before had he been dealt so many losses; in his mind, the Dwarfs and their allies should have been wiped out long before now!

Still, he knew that things weren't all bad; he had nearly burst out laughing when the beard-things' traps had literally blown up in their faces, and their backs were now against the wall. The loss of his artillery was a setback, but he could still push them into the Citadel itself, and if he did it fast enough, he would be able to take their mysterious weapon for himself. With that in his control, not only would Karak Eight Peaks finally belong to him, but so would all of the Under-Empire.

"Now is good-right time for attack," he muttered, and waved his forces forward.

" _Just because my people are still fighting your last wave doesn't mean they will fall to you,"_ the Dwarf skull on his trophy rack said.

Queek ignored the words of the dead beard-thing as he moved to the front of his elite Stormvermin. Victory was in his grasp

" _Will ya hurryz it up?"_ the Orc skull barked. _"I want ta see da stunties and da humies bleed all nice-like."_

"Shut up, stupid green-thing!" Queek hissed. "Mighty Queek is getting there!"

A few of the Stormvermin who heard him gave him strange glances, but only when they were sure Queek didn't notice. The Warlord might have been crazy, but he was as vicious as any proper Skaven.

Raising his infamous war pick, Dwarf Gouger, high over his head, Queek signaled for his final assault to begin.

…

Despite the damage the explosives had done to the Dwarfs, Shepard's own army was in fairly good spirits. With the Skaven focused mainly on the Dwarfs, the Imperials' losses had been light, but had amassed quite the tally of kills. Their morale only improved further when Shepard and her group rejoined them.

"Welcome back, General," Michael said as he wiped Skaven blood from his brow—it didn't seem to make much difference to Shepard, since the Warrior Priest was still soaked everywhere else.

"Glad to be back," Shepard replied, kicking away a Stormvermin and burying Unbak Urk into the head of another. "Did I miss anything interesting?"

"Only the slaughter of our enemies!" Michael almost laughed as he dove back into the fray, crushing Skaven with every swing of his hammer.

"Hey, cut me some slack!" Shepard yelled after him. "I was busy waiting for the stupid artillery to show up!"

If Michael heard her, he didn't respond, so Shepard settled for reinforcing the Imperial part of the line. It wasn't until she spotted a dozen hammers rising and falling near her position that she realized that Balric and his Hammerers had tagged along, as had Gotrek. Apparently, the Slayer had decided to fight on the front lines, rather than dive headlong into the back ranks of the Skaven; presumably, he wanted to make the most difference.

Felix had yet to leave Shepard's side, and though he fought as ferociously as anyone else, Shepard could tell that the man did _not_ want to be part of this battle. Still, the fact that he stayed anyway told Shepard a great deal. On her other side, Richter and the Greatswords fought like champions, cleaving through Skaven as if the fate of the world depended on it.

With a rumble of hooves and battle cries, Locke and his cavalry thundered forward, forcing back Skaven with volleys of gunfire. The Pistoliers and Outriders went up and down the line, shoring up any defenses that looked in need of help and attacking with reckless abandon. Locke himself refused to back down, even when a Stormvermin vaulted onto his horse; he only shoved the barrel of his pistol into the rat-man's throat and pulled the trigger, then continued to ride.

It took a while for Shepard to spot Parral, if only because the Wizard wasn't where she thought he'd be. Like the last time she'd seen him fight, he was on a throne of vines, but he was waving his staff in the direction of a mass of Skaven, and in response, claw-like roots were breaking through the stone and dragging dozens of victims into the abyss. In another show of power, Parral merely waved his hand, and a regiment of Halberdiers that was about to be overwhelmed suddenly fought their way through a pack of Skaven, their wounds healing faster than they could be inflicted.

 _Everyone is showing off today,_ Shepard thought; unlike her Wizard friends, she settled for merely bashing in the skull of a Skaven with her shield, then decapitated another with her axe.

Every few minutes, the artillery would fire, punching great holes in the Skaven tide and giving the fighters a brief moment to breathe.

King Belegar had decided that, because the Skaven had caught on to the traps, it was likely that they would try to make the more uncontrollable ones blow up in the Dwarfs' faces. The spike pits were able to slow down the infantry, but not by much, while the surviving Doomwheels and Hell Pit Abominations just ignored them. The defenders would have to finish the job the old fashioned way.

Neither the Dwarf King nor Shepard were ones to simply endure the final onslaught, however. Rather than tighten their defensive formations, they decided to mount an attack of their own. Belegar led the Dwarfs of Karak Eight Peaks and Karak Azul down the middle in a grinding advance, with Morgrim and the Barak Varr Dwarfs on his left, and Shepard's army on his right.

Covered by a constant rain of bullets, arrows, and artillery fire, the united force marched. Each Dwarf in the line was a single link in an unyielding chain; unlike a normal chain, however, this one fought back, and hundreds of Skaven were crushed or hacked to pieces. The Imperials, on the other hand, were a moving machine of interlocking parts; whatever wasn't directly attacking was instead supporting.

All three prongs of the counterattack were headed by their respective leaders. Morgrim and his personal guard, a large regiment of Longbeards, hacked through waves of Skaven with their two-handed axes, Morgrim leaving behind particularly grisly remains. Belegar and his Hammerers fought with a fury that wouldn't be out of place among Slayers; on either side of them, groups of Ironbreakers formed an indomitable wedge that refused to break.

Shepard may have had her flanks protected by Richter and Felix, but she still fought like it was her against the world. It was an old trick she'd learned back in her own galaxy—if she went into a battle with the mindset that she would die unless she gave it her all, she fought harder than ever. A required visit to an Alliance psychologist had revealed that that might not have been the healthiest approach, but considering that Shepard was the only person in her galaxy to literally come back from the dead, her psych profile set all kinds of precedents.

When Shepard saw the ranks of Clanrats and Stormvermin begin to falter, she started to think that maybe the momentum had finally shifted in the defenders' favor, but that opinion changed when Doomwheels, Abominations, and the red-armored Stormvermin hit the line. Dwarfs and Humans alike were tossed aside, impaled, crushed, or blasted by lightning.

Still, they fought on. The red Stormvermin were certainly more skilled and vicious than the others she'd fought, but Shepard was undaunted, stepping around or deflecting halberds before hacking apart their owners. For every Skaven killed, it seemed like two more took its place, but the Dwarfs and Humans knew that this was it; if they didn't win here, there was nowhere else to go, and they would be slaughtered. The only chance of life was through victory.

A dreadful tolling noise rang out across the battlefield, even over the sound of explosions and screams. Groups of soldiers began to die as their heads exploded from the magical noise, while others were dragged to their deaths by hordes of conjured rats. Shepard glared hatefully at the massive Screaming Bell, and the cackling Grey Seer who rode atop it. She wanted to destroy both, but there were thousands of Skaven between them.

Before the Bell could toll once more, Thorek Ironbrow came to the rescue. With so many Skaven in such close proximity to his own side, it was risky to use his Anvil of Doom. However, the Screaming Bell and its rider were much farther away. First, the Runelord trapped and dispelled the magic the Grey Seer tried to use; then, he used his Anvil to summon a gaping fissure under the Bell that spat out lava. The Skaven around the Bell tried to flee, and those who were too slow were burned away. The Bell caught on fire and the Grey Seer, trapped on top with no way past the flame, was roasted alive.

The defenders who were farther back saw the display and let out a ragged cheer at the destruction of the enemy's last major war machine. Then it was back to fighting; just because one threat was gone didn't mean they could relax.

As much as Shepard knew that every Skaven she killed meant one less chance of someone on her side dying, what really mattered was Queek. If he was taken down, the Skaven army would lose heart and break; at the very least, there would be no one scary enough to keep the others in line. In the swirling melee, she had lost sight of the Warlord, but when she'd hacked away some space to breathe, she looked around for the Skaven leader.

She scowled when she saw him; Queek and a large pack of red-armored Stormvermin were butchering a regiment of Dwarfs. Shepard signaled a banner-bearer to get Belegar's attention, and once she had it, she pointed at Queek. Belegar nodded, and urged his forces forward.

"Come on, boys!" Shepard yelled. "One more push, and it's over!"

"You heard the General!" Richter shouted. "Forward, for the Empire!"

With a roar, the Humans charged again, punching deep into the Skaven lines. Shepard was at the very front, Unbak Urk carving a red ruin through the rat-men; at her sides, her friends and elite guard fought with an almost berserk fury, determined to spit in the face of death once more.

Belegar might have seen Shepard's advance as a challenge, because he urged his own forces on with just as much vigor. The fierce counterattack pushed back the tides of Skaven, and even overwhelmed a Hell Pit Abomination through sheer number of attacks. That wasn't to say that the attack was totally successful; hundreds of Dwarfs were killed by the thousands of Skaven in their way, and if it wasn't for the healing magic of Parral and the other Jade Wizards, the Humans' losses would have been just as bad. Even so, dozens of Shepard's soldiers fell, and didn't rise again.

Finally, after what felt like hours of fighting, Shepard saw an opening. "Keep me covered!" she ordered. "I'm going after Queek!"

"As you command, General!" Felix said with a grin, then moved to fight with his back to Richter, and the two men were soon drenched in the blood of Skaven.

Belegar had had the same idea, and with his personal guard forcing open a path, he charged towards Queek with his hammer raised.

Despite the cumbersome and heavy trophy rack on his back, Queek was as fast as any Skaven Shepard had ever seen. With his own guards fighting the Dwarfs and Humans, Queek pounced at Belegar, spinning wildly with his two weapons. His war pick slid off of Belegar's shield with a shower of sparks, while his sword only just missed altogether. If Shepard had hoped that Queek was distracted by the Dwarf King, she was wrong; just as she was raising her axe, Queek's tail wrapped around her ankle and yanked her feet out from under her. Only by desperately rolling to the side did Shepard avoid the barbed sword headed for her throat.

"Stupid man-thing!" Queek hissed. "This between all-powerful Queek and stinking beard-thing!"

"You and your kind are the only things that stink in my kingdom," Belegar spat, "and I shall take great pleasure in removing you!"

Queek attacked again in his whirlwind style, but Belegar was an unmoving wall of metal and tenacity. However, he was so focused on withstanding Queek's assault that he was unable to attack, nor did he see the trio of Stormvermin approaching from behind.

Shepard, however, did see them, and sprinted the distance to put herself between the king and his attackers. Elite though they might have been, they were merely Skaven, against the best soldier in the Systems Alliance's history, who was armed with an ancient and powerful Dwarf weapon. To an outside perspective, it looked like Shepard's arm almost vanished; a moment later, the three Skaven fell apart into dozens of pieces.

With that task done, Shepard ran around Belegar, trying to flank Queek, only to get lashed by his tail again. This time, she deflected it with her shield, but it still stopped her from charging.

"No more, beard-thing!" Queek snarled. "Queek drive off green-things, and cornered beard-things! Skaven shall rule-conquer these mountains, and then whole world!"

"Yeah, I don't think so," Shepard said as she stood next to Belegar. "So long as people can build a mousetrap, you'll never win."

She wasn't sure, but Shepard thought that Belegar might have laughed.

Queek hissed in rage. "Stupid man-thing! I tell-order you, you have no place here!"

Shepard merely rolled her shoulders in their sockets. "Can we kill him now?"

Belegar hefted his hammer. "Absolutely."

Finally, Queek could take it no more, and launched himself at the two; his weapons were blurs, and he was constantly spinning, not giving his opponents a clear target. The problem, Shepard saw, was that it lacked a solid stance; if either of Queek's foes landed a hit, even a minor one, it might just tip things in their favor.

"Shepard, move!"

Belegar, who had fought against Queek for years, saw the move before Shepard did; Shepard had just deflected Queek's sword, but now Dwarf Gouger was coming in, and she had no time to reposition her shield to let the weapon slide off. The best she could hope for was that the war pick wouldn't get through.

Her hope was misplaced.

With a crack and the sound of shearing metal, Dwarf Gouger punched straight through Shepard's shield, through her armor, arm, and out the other side. Shepard choked on an agonized scream as she felt muscle tear and hot blood trickle across her skin. The intense pain, located in one spot, made her sway for a moment, before her training and sheer willpower took over.

Queek's primary weapon was now jammed into Shepard's arm; even more important, he'd stopped jumping around. Even though it caused her wound to flare up, Shepard pulled her injured arm in close, drawing Queek long enough for her to plant one foot into his chest. Queek stumbled back, but not before Shepard slammed her axe down, severing his tail in half; he didn't even have time to scream before Belegar smashed his hammer into his right arm, shattering both armor and bone. Even if he hadn't left Dwarf Gouger stuck in Shepard, Queek was now robbed of his primary weapon.

Though her left arm was weighed down by Queek's weapon and causing her unbelievable pain, Shepard advanced again, swinging Unbak Urk; Queek jumped back in time, only earning a gouge across his armor, but then Belegar was there, driving his shield into Queek's gut and bowling him over. Queek lashed out wildly with his sword, even managing to pierce a weaker section of Belegar's armor and stabbing deep into his elbow, but the Dwarf ignored the wound, only avenging it by shattering Queek's other arm and pinning the Skaven to the ground under his boot.

"For Karak Eight Peaks, and for all my kin that your kind has murdered, I will have your head," Belegar said, panting heavily.

Shepard staggered over to the king and held out Unbak Urk. "You might want to use this, then."

Belegar didn't take his eyes off Queek as he reached for the axe. With one strong blow, the Warlord's head fell from his shoulders.

"Warriors!" he roared, holding the head aloft, "Karak Eight Peaks is ours once again!"

 **And that's the battle, everyone! Sorry it took so long to get here, but this chapter did not want to be written. Between real life, college, writer's block, and just lack of drive, it took forever to get this done!**

 **The one thing I want to clarify is the battle with Queek, and how fast it went. Look, Queek might be a badass Skaven, but he's still a Skaven, while Belegar and Shepard are much hardier specimens. This was only going to go one way.**

 **Not really a whole lot to say otherwise, but next chapter has things wrapping up. If you have questions, please send them via PM, because I don't like answering questions that come from reviews.**

 **Next Chapter: Victory, but at what cost? Shepard gets the shard, and so much more.**

 **Here's some Muffin's XXXXXX, that'll quench your thirst!**


	15. War of the Peaks, Part 8

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. PRO TIP: IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIVER, DON'T PARTY WITH DWARFS.**

 **Ah, I love the smell of dead Skaven in the morning. It smells like… victory. Now, on to the booze and whatnot!**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 15

War of the Peaks, Part 8

" _It was after Karak Eight Peaks that it all really changed, for good and for bad. Don't get me wrong, it was worth it, but still…"—General Alexia Shepard_

…

News of Queek's death spread quickly through the Skaven army, and many of them tried to flee the battle. All semblance of order was lost as the Skaven made a mad scramble for safety, killing each other in their attempt. This wasn't helped by the rejuvenated Dwarfs and Humans, who pursued them across the open areas; in particular, Locke and his cavalry ran down hundreds of Skaven and shot many others as they entered the tunnels.

The survivors would make it to their warrens, but there were far too few to be a significant threat. In a few days, Belegar would send in his armies to destroy the last holdouts, close the Skaven tunnels for good, and begin the long process of rebuilding the underground kingdom.

However, there were still some threats on the surface that needed immediate attention. The remaining Hell Pit Abominations didn't care about morale, and continued to rampage through the Dwarf lines, and a large group of red-armored Stormvermin—diehard fanatics that truly believed in Queek—was still fighting. But the latter was badly outnumbered, and the Dwarfs pulled back to allow the artillery a clear shot at the former. The last of the Abominations was slain by Gotrek, who had climbed onto it and hacked off each of its heads.

It took almost an hour of heavy fighting after Queek died before the Battle of Eight Peaks was truly won, but there was little time to celebrate. The Skaven corpses needed to be burned, dead friends and allies needed to be gathered and given proper burials, and the wounded needed tending.

Much to Parral's displeasure, Shepard had not sought him out for healing; instead, she was organizing groups to move the wounded into the Citadel, and working with Belegar to prepare more defenses outside the tunnels, in case there was another Skaven attack.

"General, I must insist that you come with me," Parral said through clenched teeth. "That wound is serious!"

Shepard looked down at her left arm; she had, with some help from Belegar, removed Dwarf Gouger from her forearm, as well as the armor below the elbow, and had wrapped some thick bandages around it. The bandages were soaked with blood now, and Shepard was looking a little pale.

"There are people who are worse-off than me," she said, already reading a report on supplies. "I can wait."

"I have to disagree with you there, General," Belegar countered. "Go and let your Wizard tend to you. I can handle the rest; most of it is gathering the dead, anyway."

Shepard wanted to argue, but she had a feeling that even she would be outmatched by Dwarf stubbornness. Still, she patted the king on the shoulder before she left.

"I'm sorry about Balric."

Belegar nodded sadly. In the final minutes before Queek was killed, Balric had led a charge into the elite Stormvermin, and though he and his Hammerers had succeeded in breaking a counterattack, the young Dwarf had died in the process. Like many of his brethren, he was to be given a hero's burial.

"I'll miss the lad, but he did his duty and upheld his oaths. That's an end any Dwarf would be proud of."

Shepard allowed Parral to guide her away to the tents where the Imperial wounded were kept, and he went to work healing her arm.

"You'll likely get a scar," he told her. "Just be thankful the blade went between the bones."

"Eh, it's not like I don't have plenty already," Shepard replied. "How are you and the other Jades holding up?"

Parral shrugged, not addressing the nickname Shepard gave to his entire Order. "We've divided into shifts for now; many are tired, but I suppose that it's a good thing that the Dwarfs refuse our aid."

Shepard didn't comment on the Dwarfs' feelings towards magic. "How's Gettmann doing? He was almost dead on his feet the last time I saw him."

"He pushed himself tonight, but I believe he will be mostly recovered by tomorrow," Parral said. "To be safe, don't ask him to perform any magic for several days."

Shepard nodded and let Parral work without further distraction. Without anything to do or anyone to talk to, she glanced over at the wounded; many were stable, thanks to the Jade Wizards, but they would be allowed to finish healing on their own.

Not for the first time, Shepard was glad for Parral and his peers' presence. The Imperial army had left Black Fire Pass with just over a thousand fighting men, not counting nearly two hundred support staff that accompanied them. The numbers were still coming in, but there were barely more than seven hundred soldiers alive. She knew that the Jade Wizards were responsible for keeping her army as intact as it was, but Shepard still had to deal with the fact that she'd lost more than a quarter of her men in less than a month. And it wasn't just lives lost—many weapons and pieces of armor were in dire need of repair, their ammunition and powder were all but spent, and it would be days before any of them would be able to even walk.

It was better than Middenheim, but only because they had so many allies who knew what they were doing. Without the Dwarfs, Shepard's army would have been destroyed before even reaching Karak Eight Peaks.

 _I have a feeling we won't always be this lucky,_ Shepard thought.

"There you go," Parral said, stepping back. "I've closed the wound and repaired as much as I can; time will handle the rest."

Shepard inspected her arm; the hole had closed, though she still ached every time she moved, and the ragged scar on the top and bottom was mostly red. Even with her rapid healing, Shepard estimated that it would be a week before her arm was back to normal.

"Thanks for that," she said, smiling at the Wizard. "Now go get a few hours of sleep. That's an order."

Parral smiled back, then bowed and left the tent. It wasn't long before Shepard got antsy again and went outside, only to nearly crash into Michael.

"I see that you've healed, General," Michael said, nodding at her arm. "It is good to stand victorious with you once again."

"Yeah, I have this bad habit of not letting my enemies win." Shepard grinned. "It's selfish, I know."

Michael actually smiled back. "I think in this case, you can be forgiven for that." He nodded to her. "If there is nothing you need, I will begin tending to the souls of the wounded."

Shepard stepped aside to let him pass; she wandered around for several minutes, then stopped.

"I know you're there," she said, annoyed. "Get out here, or I'm going to be very pissed off with you."

Somewhat bashfully, Richter and two other Greatswords stepped out of the shadows. "Apologies, General," Richter said, "we were just watching out for you."

Sighing, Shepard dismissed the other two men, leaving her alone with the Sergeant. "Richter, I'm flattered that you want to protect me, but this is overkill. I don't need you to stalk me everywhere I go."

"I wasn't stalking you!" Richter protested.

"Really?" Shepard crossed her arms, ignoring the painful twinge in her left. "You were following me while trying not to be seen, without my permission. Where I come from, we call that stalking." Richter looked at his feet, and even with his blood-caked armor, he looked so much like a disappointed child that Shepard had to laugh. "Look, if I ask for an escort, I'll ask, but unless I do, I want you to only stick by my side on the battlefield, okay?"

Richter took a deep breath, then nodded. "Very well, General. But please, for my own peace of mind, try to be aware of potential dangers."

"I was aware of you, wasn't I?" Shepard teased, then made a shooing motion with her hands. "Go on, get some food, sleep, and clean your armor before you start to stink."

"As you command, General," Richter sighed, then made his way to the nearest tent.

"If I didn't know better," another familiar voice said, "I would say that that man carries a torch for you, General."

Shepard turned and arched an eyebrow at Locke. "And how, exactly, do you 'know better'?"

Locke merely smiled. "If he bore any feelings toward you other than friendship and duty, he would have said something by now. He's far too direct and honest to do otherwise. As for why…"

Shepard stepped closer and lowered her voice so that only Locke could hear her. "It's because he's not exactly interested in women, right?"

Locke nodded. "So you've noticed how he never shares any stories about his 'conquests' like the other men do."

"And he watches the troops exercise with far more attention than a trainer would," Shepard added, then frowned. "Do you have a problem with his preferences?"

Unlike people in the Systems Alliance, the idea of same-sex relationships was generally frowned upon in the Empire, or at least not openly discussed. Shepard genuinely, if platonically, cared for Richter, and didn't want to see him shamed by others, especially by another of her friends.

Thankfully, Locke shook his head. "I have no quarrel with the man; the way he lives his life is his business, and so long as he remains loyal to the Empire, that won't change."

Shepard smiled. "Thanks."

Locke gave her an exaggerated bow. "Of course, General. Now, I didn't come here just to gossip, nor to merely bask in your radiance," he winked, and Shepard rolled her eyes. "I want to let you know that our Pistoliers might be short on manpower for a few weeks, perhaps longer."

"Why?" Shepard frowned as she thought back to the list of casualties. "Your men didn't take too many losses, did they?"

"No, thank Sigmar for small mercies," Locke said. "However, many of my men fought superbly on this campaign, and they will be recommended for full Knighthood. Either we must wait for more noble sons to join our ranks, or we will have to recruit commoners to become permanent Pistoliers and Outriders."

Shepard thought about it for a moment. "Do the latter. Nobles can still join, but if they're going to be rotated out, we'll need a way to compensate."

Locke shrugged. "Very well. So long as we keep that method limited to our army, I don't see many noble families getting too upset."

"Hey, with the capital I've made in Nuln, I can afford to equip them all anyway," Shepard said. "They don't have to pay any money for gear, so the only reasons they have to bitch about are stupid reasons." She then remembered that Locke himself was a noble. "Er, no offense."

"None taken," Locke said with a smile. "If I truly cared for such things, I would have made my opinion heard by all."

"Thanks, I think." Shepard glanced at the sky, and realized that dawn was only a couple hours away. "I should go, Locke. Get some rest, all right?"

"I shall do so," Locke promised, then grinned. "I wonder if any of the ladies from the supply wagons are still awake?"

Shepard rolled her eyes and walked away. She wandered around the outside of the Citadel for some time, unable to rest because of the hundreds of little things that needed to be done—finding that damn shard, for one, gathering enough supplies for the return to the Empire, especially if the Barak Varr ironclads weren't waiting for them, and so on. She didn't even see Felix until she crashed into him; unfortunately, she had been walking with her arms crossed, and her left arm connected solidly with Felix's chainmail shirt.

"Fucking shit!" Shepard hissed, cradling her arm and wincing at the throbbing pain.

"Alexia, are you all right?" Suddenly, Felix was there, gently taking her arm in her hands. "Oh, your wound is still healing, I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's my fault," Shepard said, waving away his apology. "I wasn't paying attention, and, um…" she trailed off when she noticed just how close they were, and was thankful that the darkness hid her blush.

 _Stupid cute poets,_ she mentally grumbled.

"It's been quite the day," Felix said. "I know that you have much on your mind, but you should get some rest. You're no good to anyone if you don't get any sleep."

Shepard hated to admit it, but Felix was right. She'd been fighting for hours, everything ached—especially her arm—and she was going to be busy again soon.

"Okay, fine," she huffed. "You're as bad as Richter and Parral, you know that?"

"Considering how protective of you they are, I'll take that as a compliment," Felix said smoothly, then gently guided her to the Citadel's entrance.

"I can sleep in a tent like everyone else," Shepard protested, but didn't make more than a token effort to pull away, if for no other reason than that doing so would mean tugging at her injured arm.

"Absolutely not," Felix said. "First of all, you are a lady, and deserve your privacy. Second, you are the hero of this campaign, and I'm positive that everyone will insist that you've earned some special treatment."

"Fine," she muttered, "but I won't like it."

"Yes, yes, of course."

Felix escorted her to her room, smiling knowingly when Shepard's eyes were only barely staying open.

"G'night," Shepard mumbled, pushing open the door, but stopped just before entering. "Thanks, by the way."

"For what?" Felix asked.

"For watching my back out there," Shepard said. "I guess you're not so bad after all."

"Thank you… I think." As she closed the door, Shepard fought against laughing when she saw Felix's confused expression.

…

"Ugh, this is _awful_ ," an Imperial soldier complained as he shoveled yet another Skaven corpse towards the growing pile. "How the hell do you stand the smell?"

The Dwarf next to him scoffed. "It's worse underground; up here, the wind blows away the worst of the stink."

The Human blanched. "Sorry I asked. Hey, is that the body of what's-his-name? Queek, right?"

Following man's outstretched arm, the Dwarf nodded and scowled. "Yes, that's Headtaker's corpse. I'm surprised it hasn't been burned already."

"You want to do the honors yourself?" the Human grinned. "That's a good way to start the new day, right?"

The Dwarf chuckled, and the two of them made their way over to the headless Warlord. "Never thought I'd live to see the Eight Peaks retaken."

"I'm sure you'll have plenty of stories to tell your children one day."

"Bah, I'll tell 'em when I get back to Karak Azul! Perhaps it'll give my second son a reason to work harder and not just draw his newfangled designs." The Dwarf sighed. "Ancestors only know what kind of trouble he'll get into with the Engineers Guild."

Scowling despite the previous night's victory, the Dwarf kicked Queek's body, knocking loose a pouch from the belt. Neither of the two living souls noticed until they picked up the corpse, shifting the pouch further and making it fall to the ground with a muffled clatter.

"Did you hear that?" the Human asked.

The Dwarf nodded, and they dropped the body, searching for the noise. A moment later, the Dwarf picked up the pouch.

"Wonder what this is," he muttered, pulling the pouch open. His eyes went wide, and his face was illuminated by a golden glow.

The Human, seeing the glow, walked around the Dwarf and peered over his head to get a better look. "What the hell _is_ tha—huh?"

"What?"

"Well, the General and the rest of us were sent out here to look for something strange." The two of them shared a look. "I'll go send for the General immediately."

"I'll keep watch," the Dwarf said, handing the pouch over to the Human. "Give that to one of your officers."

The Imperial dashed off, leaving the Dwarf alone; since he had nothing else to do until someone could help him pile up the corpses, he settled for kicking Queek's body a few more times.

…

Shepard had already been brought before Belegar while covered in filth and blood—some of it her own, but most of it not—but she still wished that she'd been given a little more time to make herself presentable. Though she'd taken a bath the night before, her armor was being repaired, and thus her tunic and pants were rumpled, and her hair was a mess. She felt a little better about her appearance when she saw that Belegar hardly looked better than she did.

"Did someone wake you up early too?" Shepard asked, still rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Aye, but I've been assured that it was for a good reason," Belegar grumbled. "For the sake of the ones who woke me up, it better be. Do you know how many years I've waited for a chance to get a good night's sleep?"

"Glad to know we're on the same page there," Shepard said, as Morgrim and Thorek walked into the throne room. Since they had been awake organizing cleanup or recovery, they looked more alert than the other two.

"I heard something about a discovery being made," Thorek said. "What happened?"

Shepard took a moment to shake away the last of her fatigue. "Apparently, someone found something on Queek's body when it was being moved." She pointed to a filthy sack lying on the table. "Whatever's in that thing, apparently."

Thorek glanced at the sack and immediately frowned. "I thought I sensed something odd. There's a strange energy coming from within that thing, like nothing I've ever seen before."

"So it's not something of ours?" Belegar asked, now eyeing the sack warily.

Thorek shook his head. "There is no anchoring element, like our runes. This is something else, I'm sure."

Shepard was reaching out to touch the bag and open it when she heard raised voices coming from outside the throne room. She turned and saw Gettmann trying to push his way inside, while two Hammerers were firmly blocking his path.

"General, please hold!" the Celestial Wizard shouted. "Do not touch it! It might not be safe!"

Shepard immediately pulled her hand back. After her encounter with the Prothean Beacon on Eden Prime, she had learned that if someone told her not to touch something, it would be better for her health if she heeded the warning.

"Let him in," Shepard said. "Considering how much he's done to help us, I'm willing to trust him."

Despite his innate dislike of Wizards, Belegar motioned for his guards to let Gettmann inside. The man bowed his head at Shepard in thanks, then slowly made his way to the bag on the table. He didn't touch it, only held his hands a few inches above it for a moment.

"This is it," he said, his voice so low that it was barely heard. "This is the shard we sought, General."

Shepard went very still; only her eyes moved, darting from Gettmann to the bag. "Can we take it out?"

Gettmann hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "At the very least, we should put it in a clean container."

"And I'd like to know what this thing even looks like," Shepard added, then gently opened the bag.

Inside, glowing with a golden light, was a single ring, barely bigger than Shepard's fist. There were small lines carved into it, so small that they were barely visible. To Shepard's engineering eye, it was perfectly structured, a geometric wonder she'd only seen in Dwarf craftsmanship.

"That's it?" Morgrim asked, squinting at the ring. "That's what you came all this way for?"

 _Way to ruin the moment,_ Shepard thought. _Still, this ring looks kind of familiar…_

Then it hit her: it looked exactly like the rings that spun in the center section of a Mass Relay, only golden, and much smaller. She would know; she and Tali had studied and debated structural design for hours on end regarding those very rings.

As she turned the shard over in her hands, she felt an odd sensation; if she didn't know better, she would have sworn that the ring had reacted to her touch.

"General, are you well?" Shepard glanced down at Morgrim, who was now studying her closely. "You are very pale."

Shepard considering denying it, but she knew how the Dwarfs looked down on lying. "This just reminds me of something from back home. It's been so long… well, you know how it is."

To everyone's surprise, Belegar was the one who nodded. "I understand, General. As this 'shard' is not of my people, I will not dispute the Empire's claim of it."

Shepard smiled, but didn't let her relief show. The possibility of the Dwarfs fighting her for the shard had been a possibility, one that she really didn't want happening.

"Your Majesty, if I could ask a favor?" Shepard waited until Belegar nodded. "Could I get a chest to put this in? I don't want it getting taken out of my pocket or something."

Belegar smiled wryly. "My people are experts on securing artifacts. I will have something ready for you before you go."

"Thank you." Shepard then bowed her head to all the Dwarfs present. "It was an honor to work with you all."

"And it was ours as well," Morgrim said, speaking for his kinsman. "I told you before, General—if you ever need my help, I will come."

Belegar coughed. "Rebuilding Karak Eight Peaks will take time, but I will personally petition the High King to name you friend to all within the Karaz Ankor. In light of your deeds, I am confident that he will do this, but even if he does not, know that you and your kin will always be welcome here."

Shepard had to blink as she realized the importance of the king's words. There had been very few Humans named as a Dwarf Friend, Sigmar chief among them; each of those individuals had been able to call on whole armies at times. Shepard didn't know if she'd ever be in a situation where she might need that kind of power, but it was better to have that kind of favor and not need it, than need it and not have it.

"Thank you," Shepard said again, and that was it. If she said any more, it would only mock the gift she'd been given.

"I am sure that you and your officers have much to discuss," Belegar said after a moment. "For the rest of us, I suggest we retire for now. We may not get a chance to do so again for some time."

…

Shepard had allowed herself another hour of sleep, both for her sake, and for her men, before calling a council of war. Her officers, as well as Gotrek and Felix, had been excited to know that their mission was complete—other than actually getting back to the Empire, anyway—but after a few minutes of inspecting the ring, different opinions were voiced.

"So that's it, then?" Richter looked at the shard doubtfully. "Doesn't look like much."

"I assure you, Sergeant," Gettmann said, his voice frosty, "though this is merely a piece of a greater whole, it radiates more power than anything I have ever seen."

"And we are just leaving it out in the open?" Michael glared at the ring as if it was offending him. "I do not claim to be knowledgeable of sorcery, but that seems unwise."

"I must disagree with you, at least in part," Parral said calmly. "While keeping such powerful artifacts under careful guard is always wise, the power of this shard is… stable. I would normally be wary of any magical item that has been broken, but this item seems safe."

"Yes, it 'seems' safe," Locke said, then turned to Shepard. "General, I humbly suggest that we put this shard into the box the Dwarfs are giving us as soon as possible."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Shepard said easily. "I'm not taking any chances with this thing, not until I know exactly what it is, and what it does when we get the other pieces."

"Good idea," Gotrek huffed. "Magic isn't something to be tampered with, especially when you don't know what the bloody thing even _does_."

Gettmann looked a bit put out, but Shepard patted him on the shoulder. "Hey, even if it doesn't do what we think, it's better to keep something this powerful out of the wrong hands. If it's really dangerous, I'll destroy it myself."

And she meant it. As much as Shepard wanted to get home, she wouldn't endanger innocent people to do it, and she especially wouldn't risk the people she called friends. It hurt, knowing that all the work she had done—and would do—might all be for nothing, but she refused to ignore her conscience.

With the naysayers placated, the meeting moved on to more mundane topics—organizing the trip back to the Empire, rationing supplies, and so on. For the most part, the timeline for leaving depended on when their Dwarf hosts repaired or replaced their equipment and supplies. That couldn't be rushed, since they had to do that for themselves as well, though another host from Karak Azul was on its way, with supplies to help get Karak Eight Peaks' rebuilding underway.

Once the meeting was over, Shepard left the others to their own devices. Most of them retired to their quarters or checked on the men, but Felix followed after her.

"Quite the accomplishment, Alexia," Felix commented. "You've retaken a major Dwarf stronghold, ended the lives of two of the Dwarfs' most hated enemies, and gained a permanent alliance, all in less than a week. People have become legends for much less."

Shepard grimaced. "You say it like I did all the work. I got lucky, that's all; hundreds of my men died, and I still don't know if it was worth it." When Felix raised an eyebrow, she elaborated. "I'm not saying that helping the Dwarfs was wrong, but if all those people died for some magical piece of crap that doesn't do anything, I'm going to be pissed."

Felix nodded in understanding. "I don't claim to be a priest, Alexia, but some things just need to be done with a bit of faith that it will all work out."

"You know, when you say something like that, it makes you less annoying," Shepard said, crossing her arms. "And that annoys _me_. I _like_ being annoyed at you."

"Please, General," Felix said with a wink, "you must find _some_ good qualities in me."

Shepard tilted her head, pretending to think. "Well, there's the entertainment value of watching Gotrek drag you everywhere. And I suppose you're pretty good in a fight." She smiled coyly. "And you're not too bad to look at, either. I mean, you're not as pretty as me, of course, but—"

Felix opened his mouth, but only a vague noise came out; he looked like someone had hit him upside the head. Shepard couldn't go on any longer and started to laugh.

"How can someone so beautiful be so cruel?" Felix managed to ask.

"Years of shooting down guys like you tends to do that to a girl," Shepard answered, once she could breathe properly. "The only reason I haven't walked away is because you're a lot cuter than most of those guys."

"And people call me shallow," Felix said, though he clearly didn't mean it. "Is my appearance all that matters to you?"

"Well, you _did_ save my life, and that tends to sweep most girls off their feet." Shepard blinked when she realized what she'd said. "Not that I'm most girls."

"Of course not." Felix looked serious. "You are far more than the average woman, Alexia, though I have the feeling that you would deny it if this conversation became anything more than us trading barbs."

Now it was Shepard's turn to be speechless; she was used to compliments, but not a comment about her somewhat extreme modesty. The only people to ever discuss that with her had been Anderson, her own mother, and some of her closest friends, like Garrus, Liara, and Tali. She'd known Felix for less than a month, and yet he'd seen right through her.

"So," she finally said, desperately trying to change the subject, "what are you and Gotrek going to do next?"

"Eager for the next book?" Felix smirked, then shrugged. "We've discussed it, and we'll be heading east once things are secure here. I think the second army from Karak Azul arrives tonight, so we'll probably leave tomorrow."

Shepard nodded, even as she felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. "Depending on how King Belegar handles the supplies, we'll be heading back to the Empire no later than three days from now."

"So it seems I will be parting ways with you tomorrow." Felix sighed. "That seems to happen to me a lot."

With her mood so low, Shepard barely noticed that they had reached her quarters while they had talked. Felix was about to leave, but she grabbed his arm.

"Listen, I don't know what this is," Shepard said, forcing herself to look Felix in the eye. "I feel something towards you, and I think you might feel something towards me. Or am I misreading things?" Felix shook his head. "Then… since we're not going to see each other again…"

Shepard grabbed him by the collar and pulled him in for a kiss. Half a second later, Felix wrapped his arms around her waist as he kissed her back. Without looking away, Shepard kicked open her door and dragged the man into her room. A few seconds passed, and the sound of moaning could be heard. Then it paused, and Felix stuck his head out the doorway; he looked around for a moment, then went back inside and firmly locked the door.

…

The next morning, Shepard stood at the entrance of Karak Eight Peaks, saying goodbye to a Dwarf and a Man. With her officers busy preparing for the march home and the Dwarfs ignoring the fate of a Slayer, only Shepard was there to see Gotrek and Felix off.

"I meant what I said," she told Felix. "I'll do what I can to clear your name."

Felix smiled sadly. "I appreciate it, Alexia."

Shepard bit her lip, then put her hand on his arm. "You know, you could come back with me."

For one moment, a moment that sent Shepard's heart beating faster, it looked like Felix would say yes. But then he shook his head.

"I am so sorry, Alexia," he said, briefly embracing her. "I swore an oath to follow Gotrek. If there is one thing I have learned after everything I have lost, it is that I will not forsake my honor."

Shepard nodded, blinking as her eyes stung. She told herself that what she and Felix had shared the night before was the effect of post-battle stress, combined with a childish crush, resulting in a whirlwind of passion. She told herself that it would pass soon enough. For some reason, she didn't believe it. Maybe what they'd had was just physical attraction and wild emotions, but that didn't mean that, at that moment, she didn't still hurt.

"If you ever find yourself in Nuln," she whispered, "I wouldn't mind seeing you again."

Felix smiled, gently kissing her on the cheek before stepping back. "You will be the first one I look for."

Shepard swallowed, then turned to Gotrek. "Keep him alive, would you? I kinda grew attached to him."

Gotrek shrugged. "He's too foolish to get himself killed, if that's what you mean."

Felix only rolled his eyes, but Shepard let out a broken laugh. "Good luck out there."

"And you as well," Gotrek said, then leaned his axe against his shoulder and began walking.

Felix followed after him; he didn't look back, though he did hesitate for a moment, and Shepard saw one of his feet shift back to her for just a second. Then he shrugged his shoulders, adjusted his pack, and resumed walking.

Shepard watched them go for a few more seconds; she took a deep breath, then turned around and headed back. She would put aside her feelings, at least for a while; she could think about heartbreak and what could have been while on the long trip back to the Empire.

…

"You wanted to see me, Your Majesty?"

Belegar looked up from the latest of a long series of reports detailing battles underground. Though the main Skaven and greenskin presence in Karak Eight Peaks was gone, there were some holdouts, and the Dwarfs who went down to clear them out had to do so in large numbers. There were also lists estimating how much would be needed to restore the underground halls, and how long it would take. With the support of Karak Azul, Karaz-a-Karak, and the hundreds of wandering bands of Dwarfs that were flooding in, it was likely that Belegar's kingdom would regain its former glory within his lifetime.

Even so, he was grateful for the distraction. "Yes, come in, General." He waited until Shepard was seated in the chair across from his in the Citadel's dining hall; the only others present were his personal guards, Morgrim, and Thorek Ironbrow. "I wanted to give you something before you left."

Belegar didn't let it show, but it amused him to see surprise on the normally unflappable Human. "You've done plenty already, Your Majesty. You don't need to give us anything else."

The King waved his hand dismissively. "The supplies, quarters, and so on were given to an ally that my people have known for thousands of years. The oath of friendship I gave you was for the sake of honor, and I know that you would only call on our help for the Empire, not for personal gain. What I have now is for you, and you alone." He paused, then pulled a small keg out from under his seat. "This was a gift from the High King himself. He asked that I save it for the day I retook my kingdom."

With borderline reverence, Belegar opened the keg and poured its contents into four mugs, and then divided them between himself, Shepard, Morgrim, and Thorek.

Morgrim did a double-take when he saw the mark on the keg. "Your Majesty, is that really…?"

"Yes, it is," Belegar said with a smile. "Bugman's XXXXXX." He glanced at Shepard and explained for her benefit. "Some of the greatest ale ever brewed. Some have paid with every piece of gold they have for a single cup of this. It's even rarer for Humans."

Shepard nodded and picked up her mug. "Thank you."

"To victory!" Belegar said, raising his own mug high.

"To hope," Shepard added; the Dwarfs nodded in agreement before taking a long drink.

Belegar allowed himself to feel pure bliss for several seconds. He then smirked at the dazed look on Shepard's face; she might have been able to handle an average Dwarf brew, but only the hardiest of folk could withstand anything from Bugman's. The fact that she hadn't fallen over in a drunken stupor already was still impressive.

"Uh… whoa," Shepard said, blinking rapidly. "That's some strong stuff."

"You may want to sober up," Belegar said, pushing a plate of meats and breads her way. "There is one more matter to address."

The Dwarfs waited while Shepard ate; when she looked steady enough, Belegar placed a chest on the table. It was made of solid metal and coated in runes of protection; when Belegar moved it, Shepard heard something rattle around inside.

"The chest is for your shard, and for anything else you wish to store," Belegar said. "What rests within, however, is for you to use."

Shepard opened the chest; when she saw the contents, her eyes went very wide. Slowly, she pulled Unbak Urk out of the chest and rested it on the table.

"Over two thousand years ago, the High King of that time gave the Human known as Sigmar Ghal Maraz, one of the greatest weapons ever forged by Dwarf hands. This was in thanks for the deeds Sigmar had done for the Dwarf people." Belegar locked eyes with Shepard. "Reclaiming Karak Eight Peaks might not have been possible without your help. In keeping with tradition, I grant you this axe. May it serve you well."

When Shepard spoke, it was with the biggest smile Belegar had seen. "Thank you. I promise that I'll take care of it."

"See that you do," Thorek said gruffly. "That weapon is for you alone. If you die, it must be returned to us, and you cannot pass it on to your children."

Shepard nodded. "I get it, it's a loan."

Belegar had to admire Shepard's fearlessness in the face of the Runelord's stern disapproval. Thorek had been opposed to giving the Human such a potent artifact, and had only been placated when Belegar agreed to the condition of the axe's return.

"Beyond being a powerful weapon, Unbak Urk is also a symbol," Belegar said. "Any Dwarf from the Worlds Edge Mountains will know that you have the support of Karak Eight Peaks."

Shepard smiled. "You know, I just came out here to find a way home. I didn't expect to make so many friends." She then sighed. _I guess some things never change._

Belegar poured the rest of the XXXXXX into the mugs. "Drink up, General, and then rest. You have a long journey back to the Empire."

"Here's hoping the return trip won't be as exciting," Shepard said, then raised her mug again.

…

When Shepard's army and that of Barak Varr left, it was to the gruff cheers of Dwarfs that echoed across the mountains. It was widely agreed, albeit reluctantly, that Karak Eight Peaks might not have been retaken, had it not been for those reinforcements. In particular, Shepard was regarded as the reason why the Dwarfs had allied with the Empire in the first place; while some grumbled that granting her Unbak Urk was a bit much, no one who had seen her fight could deny that she used it as well as any Dwarf.

"You will forever have the gratitude of my people," Belegar said in the moments before the two armies left. "Thank you."

Morgrim nodded respectfully, while Shepard—who had her helmet tucked under one arm, while the other rested on Unbak Urk, which hung at her waist—smiled. "Well, if you ever get into trouble again, let me know. Bashing Goblins is fun."

To the surprise of many, Belegar let out a hearty laugh. "I will be sure to invite you to the next scrum. Farewell, General Shepard; I hope that we meet again."

Shepard nodded, then turned to her men. "All right, boys, let's go home!"

…

The trip back to Barak Varr was much more relaxing than the first journey. Olg and the other ironclad captains arrived to pick the two armies up a few days after they had made camp at the river's edge. Other than noting that there were far fewer people boarding the ships this time, the mood was fairly light. There was laughter, stories, and plenty of drinking; even Richter was less nauseas, though he stayed in his quarters for the most part.

Without the race against time, the ships moved slower, and it took nearly two weeks to arrive in Barak Varr. However, rather than travel overland to the Empire from the Dwarf stronghold, Olg and the crews of two other ships volunteered to take them up Skull River, cutting down their travel time by several days.

"Considering all you've done, you deserve it," Olg explained when Shepard questioned him about it.

Despite the reduced distance they had to travel, the Imperials still took another ten days to reach Black Fire Pass. Their pace was slow, mostly because there were many men who were still recovering from their wounds; they would still fight again, but Shepard wasn't taking chances when she didn't have to.

When they arrived in the Empire, they waited just past Black Fire Pass. A small team of scouts had been assigned to watch for their return, and several of them had ridden back to inform a detachment of Reiksguard Knights. Though they were tired, Shepard's soldiers held their heads high as they marched back home.

…

"It seems you have not wasted time," Kurt Helborg said as he looked around Shepard's workshop. Papers were stacked all over, and several small-scale models of future projects were lying on tables.

"I needed something to do," Shepard said, then put away another sketch; to Helborg's eye, it looked like she was designing some kind of flying machine. "I'm glad I'm not the only one who came back in one piece."

After returning to Nuln, Shepard had sent Gettmann to Altdorf with the shard, escorted by the same detachment of Reiksguard that had led her army back to the city and all of Locke's cavalry. Only once she had received word that the shard was now safely hidden within the Colleges of Magic did Shepard relax. After that, she had retreated to her workshop, working feverishly on new designs.

The Reiksmarshal had also been busy. During Shepard's mission, the Emperor had sent Helborg and the Reiksguard into battle several times; twice they had faced hordes of Beastmen, and had crushed several Chaos cults in the northern provinces. Helborg had only been able to visit Shepard nearly a month after her return.

"I've read your reports," he said as he idly wandered through the workshop. "The Emperor is planning to do something about the Skaven, though it still amazes me that they truly exist."

"Yeah, I'm used to people not believing about something, even if they see it with their own eyes." Shepard looked relaxed, but Helborg could hear the bitterness in her tone. "Anyway, what next? I assume my orders are to stick with patrols and rebuilding my forces until we find another shard?"

"Yes, though I would suggest that you expand your ranks further." Helborg looked grim. "You may not have thousands of allies at your back next time."

"Already planned for that," Shepard said. "I want my men to be able to fight without someone else backing them up. Anything else I should know?"

Helborg frowned. "There was one matter that I wanted to discuss."

Shepard raised an eyebrow and leaned back in her seat. "What's wrong?"

"In your reports, you asked that Felix Jaeger be pardoned and made a lawful citizen of the Empire." Helborg crossed his arms. "You are aware of his crimes, yes?"

Shepard didn't even blink. "He protested a tax on _windows_. There aren't many taxes that stupid. Besides, he's basically been living in exile for years, and he's helped a lot of people. Can't we call it even by now?"

"You seem rather… determined to see this man come home," Helborg commented.

"I kind of have to," Shepard said, and to Helborg's surprise, she blushed. "The only way I can talk to him is in person; I can't exactly write him a letter and tell him the news."

"What news?"

Shepard gave him a wobbly smile. "That I'm pregnant."

 **Campaign's over. You can now relax. Just letting you all know now, I'm going to take a break from this story to work on some of my others. It's been months since I've touched on those, and I'm tired of people asking when the next update comes.**

 **If you have any questions, just send me a PM.**

 **Next Chapter: Shepard struggles with the challenges of daily life in the Empire, as well as her future.**

 **Dwarfs are masters of steel and muffins.**


	16. Growing Light and Darkness

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. HAVING THE BAD GUYS BUILD UP THEIR STRENGTH IS ALWAYS FUN. IT MAKES FUTURE BATTLES MUCH MORE INTERESTING.**

 **So, it's come to my attention that more than a few of you don't like Shepard and Felix being a couple. I think I just did a poor job of showing their relationship. Look, unless you have no soul, there are very few situations where a physical relationship—even a brief one—doesn't leave a few emotional echoes. However, this doesn't necessarily last. Shepard had a crush on Felix; they knew each other for a few weeks, at best, and I'm too cynical to think that people will fall madly in love in such a short amount of time. What Shepard and Felix had was a fling, albeit one that resulted in a pregnancy; however, Shepard is still trying to get home, and will** _ **not**_ **let herself have that kind of emotional attachment (beyond, you know, what she's already going to have because she's going to be a mom), and if you tell yourself something enough times, you'll end up believing it. So, yeah, Shepard and Felix won't be a thing.**

 **That being said, let's find out how people are doing, shall we? Oh, I should mention that there are time-skips aplenty. Just saying, because I'm not covering nine months of Shepard sitting around.**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 16

Growing Light and Darkness

" _Three things scared the hell out of me during that time. First, that I would lose the baby before he was born. Second, that I wouldn't be able to take my child home with me. Third… that I would decide to stay behind for him."—General Alexia Shepard_

…

To the casual observer, General Shepard had become even more productive during the months of her pregnancy. New inventions were reaching the prototype stage, several existing technologies were being improved upon, and the city of Nuln was quickly reaching an unparalleled era of prosperity and progress.

If one were to look closer, however, the idea of the unflappable Shepard was revealed as an illusion. She had practically barricaded herself within her workshop, and when she was seen, she could only barely hide her trembling hands and stress-induced lack of sleep.

Shepard had never given any thought to having children or starting a family. Before joining the military, she had been too young, and her missions had consumed her every waking hour afterwards. When she had discovered that she was pregnant, she had only barely avoided a complete breakdown; she wasn't prepared to be a mother, especially when she was in the middle of trying to get back to her own universe!

And so she had thrown herself into her work. Blueprints were drafted, supplies were delivered, and so much was being done that Shepard was forced to expand her workshop to include a small factory, as well as bring in several young engineers as assistants. The only reason she left at all was because her officers practically dragged her out at least once a day. At first, Shepard had resisted their efforts, but Parral had an argument that shattered her not-quite-denial.

"I am a Wizard of Life," he had said. "As such, I can say with confidence that there are few out there who are better able to check on the status of your child."

As unnerved as she was by the prospect of being a mother, Shepard was also terrified that something might happen to her unborn child—either because of her rebuilt physiology or lack of modern medical equipment—and consented to daily checkups from Parral. Thankfully, her fears were unfounded.

"Your baby is quite healthy," Parral said, just as he did every day for the last six months Shepard had known she was pregnant—which meant that the baby was due in almost a month and a half—and stepped away.

"Thanks," Shepard said, then looked down at her swollen belly. "It's good to know that my kid is doing all right."

Her baby's health was, to Shepard, the only good thing about this whole ordeal. She still hadn't been able to get in touch with Felix—though her feelings for him had long since faded to a well-healed wound—and the idea of surprising him by telling him in person, perhaps years from now, was not something she wanted to go through.

"And you are also doing quite well," Parral continued. "I have seen women become quite weak during their pregnancy, yet you have not changed much."

"Yeah, other than losing my figure," Shepard muttered, then looked down again. "You owe me for this, kid."

Richter, Locke, and Michael, always present during the daily checkups—and used as an excuse to make Shepard more involved with her men—hid their chuckles, then ducked away when Shepard glared at them.

"Excuse me, General?" One of Shepard's assistants, a young man named Rudolph Leitzer, entered her army's command building. "I have the reports you asked for."

"Great, thanks." Shepard took a handful of papers from the engineer and glanced through them. "Okay, so there's good news and bad news."

"Isn't that always the case?" Locke asked with a dry laugh.

Shepard grinned at him. "Yeah. Anyway, the good news is that all major cities are _finally_ getting off their asses and doing something about the Skaven."

After returning from Karak Eight Peaks, Shepard had brought enough evidence about the existence of the Skaven that the Emperor and the Elector Counts had no choice but to accept the truth. When this evidence was added to the stories of rat-people living underneath most Imperial cities, Shepard had strongly advised that something be done about it. However, rather than wait for a general decision, Shepard had gone back to Nuln and rallied the city's leaders to begin purging the sewers of Skaven, and blocking any tunnels that might exist.

It turned out that not only were there tunnels leading to Skavenblight, but there was also a sizeable warren gnawed out in the abandoned part of the old sewer system. The idea of taking the fight right to the Skaven home was deemed too dangerous, but securing the underbellies of their cities was now a priority. The fighting had raged for weeks, but the combined might of Nuln and Shepard's army had driven the Skaven away from the city. Since Shepard had been pregnant for almost three months at the time, she had been barred from fighting, but she had learned many tactics about fighting the Skaven from the Dwarfs; between that knowledge and the experience her men had shared with the Nuln State Troops, the veterans of the underground campaign had become excellent tunnel-fighters. Now it seemed that the other provinces were following Nuln's example.

"What's the bad news?" Richter asked.

Shepard sighed. "Looks like the Skaven decided not to wait. There's fighting in the streets, and a lot of troops that patrol the roads are being recalled to force the rats back underground." She shook her head. "I'm putting my more advanced projects on hold until the Heavy Repeaters and flamethrowers are ready for production."

"Those will be useful," Locke commented.

After seeing the effectiveness of the repeater handguns against large groups of enemies, Shepard had taken the design a step further with a heavier crewed version of the weapon. It fired faster and at longer ranges, but required two people to use; one to load the weapon with prepared belts of ammunition and to clear any jams, and one to operate the crank-powered firing mechanism. Since such weapons would be obvious targets, Shepard had created tactics to have, in optimal conditions, one Heavy Repeater crew attached to every Handgunner regiment. This would make the Handgunners much more dangerous, and the Heavy Repeater would be better protected.

The second weapon Shepard was creating was a man-portable flamethrower. She had been inspired by the Dwarf Flame Cannon, as well as memories of how effective flamethrowers had been against Reaper forces, like Husks and the Rachni. In the close confines of tunnel-fighting, a flamethrower in the right place could be devastating. Creating a fuel had been easy enough—there were plenty of flammable chemicals that Shepard could either obtain or create—and the fuel container and firing mechanism was almost finished. The only problem she still had was creating a pilot light; until she had a way to do that with the available technology, the first iteration would have to be a two-man team. One man would hold and shoot the flammable material, while the other would hold a torch in front of the hose; both soldiers would be equipped with padded armor that would reduce the intense heat they would inevitably feel.

When the Bright Wizards had heard about that, they had raised a fuss, claiming that Shepard was 'infringing upon their duty'. Shepard had retorted that the Bright Wizards couldn't be everywhere at once, and people were more willing to let an unknown machine into their cities than a Wizard. If the Bright College had an issue, they could bring it up when the Empire wasn't pushing the Skaven out from under its collective nose.

"And speaking of those, I need to get back to them." Shepard grunted as she pushed herself out of her chair, waving off Richter as he moved to help her. "Leitzer, tell the others that they're probably going to be pulling another all-nighter. I'm not sleeping until we reduce the odds of jamming on the repeaters by another twenty percent, and that means that you guys aren't, either."

Though being told that he'd be missing out on sleep made Leitzer wince, he was also excited to be involved in Shepard's projects, just as he knew that the other engineers would be.

"Of course, General. I'll bring in some more parchment in case you have another idea while you're working."

Richter scowled at the engineer's flippant attitude, but Shepard let it slide. She had encouraged her staff to be more free-spirited; she didn't want toadies who only did as they were told. So long as they didn't cross the line into insubordination or disrespect, Shepard didn't have any problems.

"See you guys tomorrow," Shepard said as she left. "If you hear any explosions or see my workshop on fire, please give me a hand. I _am_ pregnant, after all."

…

Within the Great Forest, a sprawling expanse of trees that crossed into Stirland, Talabecland, and Ostermark, a hidden war was being waged between two of the Empire's greatest enemies. The forest echoed with the battle between abominations, both living and dead.

"Forward!" Henrietta von Carstein screamed. "Slaughter them all!"

Across the battlefield, thousands of Beastmen stampeded towards the undead, braying and howling with rage. They were met by the ancient weapons of Skeleton Warriors and Grave Guard, the claws and primitive clubs of Ghouls, and the ethereal weaponry of Spirit Hosts and Hexwraiths. Undead warriors and monsters were smashed aside, but for every foe they destroyed, two Beastmen were killed, and many of their victims were soon raised back into service.

Henrietta led the countercharge herself, removing heads and limbs with her two swords. Had she not been so driven by her own fury, she would have applauded the ferocity with which the Beastmen fought. By the time the sun began to rise, this latest skirmish was over; the Beastmen had pulled back after Henrietta eviscerated their Bray Shaman, the third such monster she'd killed over the last week.

The Beastmen horde was still fading into the woods when Henrietta ordered her fallen warriors to be reconstituted, and joined by the fresh corpses of the Beastmen.

"My Lady, how much longer must we remain in this forsaken forest? Raising dead Beastmen is more taxing than Humans; the powers of Chaos push against our magic."

Henrietta eyed the Necromancer, a frail old man who only went by the name of the Undertaker, with disgust. The most powerful of the mortals she'd coerced or bullied into her service, the Undertaker's skill at raising and controlling the dead was only outweighed by his incessant need to randomly peel apart bones, layer by layer. It infuriated Henrietta, because the Necromancer would sometimes ignore her summons if he was in the middle of his 'studies'. Still, he was useful, and finding another of his caliber would be difficult, so Henrietta let him be.

"We will leave when I say we will leave," Henrietta said, fangs bared. "And not a second sooner."

The Undertaker sighed. "Very well, My Lady." He glanced to the side, then gripped his withered staff tightly. "He's coming."

If there was one creature in her army that Henrietta disliked more than the Undertaker, it was her unofficial second-in-command. Visharos was a hulking brute of the Strigoi line of Vampires; only his fangs, identical to Henrietta's, suggested he was connected to the Midnight Aristocracy. He towered over the von Carstein, but only if he rose from his usual crouch, and his bulging, if twisted, grey-skinned muscles made him heavier than a knight in full armor. He was incredibly strong, able to rip a fully-grown Minotaur in half; in fact, he'd done exactly that more than once during the battles with the Beastmen.

Henrietta had discovered Visharos by complete accident. During a foray into an abandoned crypt, she had found thousands of Ghouls, all paying tribute—in the form of rancid meat—to the massive Ghoul King. In order to secure Visharos' loyalty, Henrietta had promised to restore her monstrous cousin back to a more noble form, like that of a von Carstein. All she asked in return was that all her enemies be destroyed first. He had accepted, pledging not only his service, but that of his Ghoul army.

"The beasts flee," Visharos said in a deep hiss. "I hate their blood; it is tainted."

"Then stop drinking it," Henrietta snarled. "There are plenty of untainted creatures for you to hunt."

Like any proper von Carstein, Henrietta loathed the Strigoi, but she couldn't deny his strength, and without him, she wouldn't be able to keep all of the Ghouls in line. Her greatest fear was that Visharos wouldn't be able to keep his bloodlust in check, and attack a major Imperial target before Henrietta was ready. For now, secrecy was her greatest weapon, which was why she only raised the dead from the most remote tombs and cairns, and only moved her forces at night. Without the usual supply of corpses, Henrietta and her Necromancers had turned to other sources of 'recruitment'; wandering spirits, dead animals, and various creatures of the night.

Another reason Henrietta hated Visharos was because he reminded her of what any Vampire that lost control could turn into. In fact, she secretly feared that it was already happening; before she set out on her quest for vengeance, she had been able to look almost totally Human, but now her pale skin had pulled tight against her bones, and her fangs protruded over her lips. She told herself that it was because she hadn't feasted on Human blood lately—she had been relying on the blood of beasts for almost three months—but she prayed to whatever gods that favored Vampires that that was really the case.

"We make one final push against the Beastmen," she declared, more to herself than to her followers that weren't mindless. "After that, we gather the corpses and head east. I believe it is time to seek an audience with my Lahmian sisters."

 _And I'll have to remember to feed at the nearest village,_ Henrietta thought. _Drinking the blood of beasts is so undignified._

…

Henrietta's final battle against the Beastmen was the largest yet, as both forces put everything they had into the fight. Howling Gors smashed apart Skeletons, and were in turn destroyed by Hexwraiths, who carved apart the monsters with their eldritch scythes or trampled them under the hooves of their unnatural steeds. Minotaurs were swarmed by Ghouls, Ungors and Dire Wolves tore at each other, Necromancers and Bray Shamans traded spells, while Harpies fought in the air against swarms of bats and their larger cousins, the Fell Bats.

Though the Beastmen fought with a savagery that only the Vampires were able to match, the undead had them outnumbered, and the Necromancers were able to raise not only Henrietta's fallen forces, but dead Beastmen as well. Hours later, the forest floor was more like a blood-soaked swamp, one that Henrietta stood triumphant in. Ghouls and bats were feasting on the flesh of the slain, and Necromancers were raising even more bodies to serve their Vampire mistress.

Henrietta nearly smiled; with her ranks bolstered by thousands of undead Beastmen, the next part of her plan could begin. She held no illusions that she could defeat the Lahmian Vampires by herself, which was why she didn't plan to. With so many extra bodies, she planned to attack Karak Kadrin, the Dwarfs' Slayer Keep, and make it look like the Lahmians were responsible. This slight would send the Slayers into a rage, and Henrietta's forces would lead them right to Silver Pinnacle.

With the Lahmians distracted by the Dwarfs, Henrietta would make her move. And the world would tremble at the lengths she would go to for revenge.

…

"This needs to be turned another twenty-two degrees," Shepard said, waving what should have been a barrel for a Heavy Repeater under the nose of Leitzer. "If not, the barrel will fly out of the assembly and the whole thing will either fall apart or explode."

Leitzer bowed his head; he could be a smart aleck at times, but he knew when to be serious. And with the Heavy Repeaters ready to be mass-produced after only five more days of work, this was one of those times.

"Yes, General, I apologize. I'll double-check the other guns as well."

Shepard nodded, satisfied. "Good. Oh, and while you're doing that, have someone check the quality of the last batch of wood for the stocks. I swear they looked like a softer type, and I don't want the guns shattering and stabbing people in the shoulder."

"Yes, General," Leitzer bowed again and left before Shepard could come up with more for him to do. He already had his hands in four other projects, and this development with the barrels was putting him behind schedule. As he began checking the barrels of the first ten Heavy Repeaters, he bumped into Eliza Schwarzer, another engineer in Shepard's employ.

Eliza was something of an oddity, and not just because she was the first woman to both be accepted by and graduate from the Imperial Engineers School in Altdorf. She was a small girl, barely five feet tall, with mousey brown hair that she kept in a short braid; she wore eyeglasses as wide as the rim of a goblet, with six other lenses that could be placed over the first so that she could look more closely at whatever she was working on.

It was clear to anyone who met her that Eliza was a genius, perhaps on the same level as Shepard, though not nearly as experienced. Nearly every other engineer who worked with her thought that her intelligence was only matched by her devotion to Shepard, and with good reason. A few weeks after Shepard returned from Karak Eight Peaks, she had visited Altdorf for yet another meeting with Karl Franz; not long after that meeting, she had stopped by the Imperial Engineers School to talk to some colleagues, but had found a weeping Eliza on her knees at the school's gates. When Shepard had asked what was wrong, Eliza had told her that she wanted so badly to follow in the footsteps of her late father, an accomplished engineer, but the school wouldn't accept her because of her gender. Shepard had then calmly asked her to recite the formula for gunpowder—the normal kind; she kept the recipe for the smokeless variety in her head and had only shared it with a few people.

Not only did Eliza know the original formula, she had also figured out how to make smokeless gunpowder on her own. Shepard had been so impressed that she sponsored Eliza's education herself, offering her a position in Nuln once she graduated. Eliza had then set a record at the school, graduating with top marks in only five months; she had barely said goodbye to her mother before heading to Nuln. She had been indispensable ever since. A few of Shepard's other apprentices—and they were, in all but name—had been skeptical about a woman joining their ranks, but they quickly got over it when they realized their hypocrisy, and when Eliza created a scaled-down model of a flying machine, one that _worked_ , of her own design in just five days.

"Good morning, Rudolph," Eliza said cheerfully, though she didn't look up from her notepad. "Why are you disassembling those guns?"

Leitzer sighed. "General Shepard found out that one of the barrels wasn't tightened properly. She wants all of them checked before the first batch is shipped to Middenheim."

Eliza froze. "Oh, I thought I'd calibrated them all! Here, let me help you."

Leitzer wanted to say no, but then he saw a way to kill two birds with one stone. "Actually, if you check the barrels, I can take care of another issue that the General wants me to look at."

It was a little mean, but Leitzer knew that Eliza would do anything for Shepard, often at the cost of food and sleep. Still, she got results, and now Leitzer would be able to look at the wood for the next batch of weapons.

"Of course!" Eliza smiled widely at him, then began inspecting the Heavy Repeater Leitzer had been disassembling. He left her there, certain that when those guns were shipped out, they would never fail because of poor manufacturing.

…

Henrietta willed her undead steed to run faster, to keep up with the Hexwraiths and Dire Wolves that surrounded her. Every so often, she would glance over her shoulder to make sure that the Dwarfs were still chasing her. The Slayers had been faster than Henrietta had expected, and now what should have been a simple lure had turned into a desperate retreat; Henrietta just hoped that her plan would still work.

After her work was done in the Great Forest, Henrietta had taken her army east. Along the way, they had attacked several small villages; the Ghouls had feasted on flesh, Henrietta's beauty and vitality had been restored by clean Human blood, and the army had been further bolstered by raised Skeleton Warriors. By the time they had reached the mountains, Henrietta's army numbered almost ten thousand strong.

Those numbers shrank quickly when Henrietta launched her attack on Karak Kadrin. Many of her more disposable troops had been cut down by cannons and Slayer axes, far faster than Henrietta had anticipated, and she had called for a retreat to Silver Pinnacle. She made sure to shout the order loud enough for the Dwarfs to hear, and then the race was on to get to the Lahmian home before the Dwarfs, with their superior knowledge of the terrain, caught up to the undead.

The chase lasted for nearly a week, and every so often Henrietta would stop and make a show of facing the Dwarfs in open battle. In reality, she would only stay long enough to divert small groups of undead to slow the Dwarfs down, and then hurry to rejoin her main force, which was camped a few hours away from Silver Pinnacle. By the time she arrived, her army had been reduced to only six thousand, not counting the swarms of bats and Dire Wolves.

"Welcome back, Mistress," the Undertaker rasped. "What forces have the Dwarfs sent?"

Henrietta smirked. "It looks like most of Karak Kadrin is empty, and the Slayers were joined by an army from Zhufbar two days ago. They had plenty of siege equipment, so I would say that the Lahmians will be in for a hard fight."

Henrietta felt a bit proud of herself; getting that kind of attention was not easy, and escaping it was even harder.

"I wish we could stay and feast on Dwarf-flesh," Visharos muttered, glaring at Henrietta.

The von Carstein's blades were at the Strigoi's throat in an instant. "Do not _dare_ question me, monster! If you want your body and mind restored, you _will_ stay true to the plan!" Then the blades were sheathed, and Henrietta's infuriated expression changed to one of patient anticipation. "Did you lay out the trail as I instructed?"

Visharos rubbed at his neck, then answered. "We put out skeletons on the path to the fortress."

"Good. I will send the bats to nest and keep them from getting the Dwarfs' attention." Henrietta smiled. "If all goes well, they will attack Silver Pinnacle within the day."

"How long will we wait before attacking?" Unlike Visharos, the Undertaker seemed rather bored with it all. He only seemed excited when exhuming ancient graveyards.

"Either when the Dwarfs retreat, or if it seems that Silver Pinnacle will fall." Henrietta pulled a small bronze tube from her belt and opened it, revealing an ancient, withered map. "One way or another, we will ambush the Lahmians."

During her preparations, Henrietta had traveled all over Sylvania, including Castle Drakenhof, home of the von Carstein Vampires. In a secret chamber that had belonged to Mannfred von Carstein, one of the greatest of the line, Henrietta had found the map, which had detailed locations of every secret passage that the Lahmians had built after taking Silver Pinnacle. How Mannfred had obtained the map was a mystery, but Henrietta wasn't going to ignore such a treasure.

If all went well, the Lahmians who survived the battle would either serve her, or die for a second time. And then Henrietta would turn her attention back to the Empire.

…

"I am so sorry!" Eliza wailed for the tenth time.

Shepard only sighed and rubbed her temples. "Eliza, it's okay, I'm not mad. Explosions happen."

"But I never would have tested that batch of gunpowder if I'd known you were close by!" Eliza looked close to tears.

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Why are you so concerned?"

"Master Parral told us to never test anything remotely dangerous near you," Leitzer said calmly as he pushed the smoldering table away from anything flammable. "In my opinion, he's paranoid that we might accidentally endanger your child."

"Ugh, he's worse than Richter about this." Shepard frowned. "Wait, when did he talk to you about this? There was a fire last month that I know _I_ didn't start…"

"It was right after that," Eliza said, wiping tears and soot off her face. "He lectured us for almost an hour. He was really scary."

Shepard sighed again. "I need to talk to him about this. For crying out loud, I'm _pregnant_ , not made of glass, I can handle—whoa!"

To the surprise of her apprentices, Shepard's knees buckled, and only by holding onto Eliza did she avoid falling down.

"General, are you all right?" Leitzer quickly moved over to help the tiny Eliza hold up the pregnant woman.

"Uh, no, I don't think so." Shepard was steady again, but she was very pale. "I think… yeah, I think my water just broke."

Leitzer was an engineer; his sphere of knowledge was completely focused on machines and formulas, and as such, he didn't quite grasp what Shepard was talking about.

"Um, what?"

"Idiot!" Eliza shrieked at him. "It means she's having the baby _right now_!"

Despite herself, Shepard laughed as Leitzer began to panic.

…

The siege of Silver Pinnacle had lasted nearly a month, and in that time, Henrietta had come close to losing her patience on more than one occasion. The Lahmians had fought hard, using magic and armies of undead Dwarfs armed with runic weapons and armor, but the Dwarfs fought harder. Every defiled corpse was incentive to win, and the chance to erase so many grudges was too great to pass up. Led by the Ungrim Ironfist, the Slayer King, and covered by the massed artillery of Zhufbar, a thousand Slayers pushed into the fortress.

Normally, Silver Pinnacle was more than capable of fending off a siege, but the Dwarfs were getting help. The Undertaker and the other Necromancers, along with Henrietta, used their magic to interfere with the Lahmians' own sorcery, slowing down or even stopping the raising of the dead. Because the Lahmians were distracted, the Dwarf armies were able to breach the defenses for the first time since Silver Pinnacle had been taken from them almost three thousand years ago.

Though the Lahmians were not as focused on combat as their von Carstein cousins, they were still Vampires, with all the strength and magical powers that entailed. For every Lahmian that was destroyed, a score of Dwarfs fell with them, but as more and more Vampires were destroyed, it became harder for the rest to maintain control over their undead forces.

Finally, when it seemed that the Dwarfs had pushed the Lahmians far enough, Henrietta made her move. On her command, thousands of Ghouls and Dire Wolves led the charge through the secret path into Silver Pinnacle. Caught by surprise, the Lahmians were unable to react fast enough, and their forces were devastated.

Henrietta led her elite forces—a hundred Grave Guard and a dozen Banshees that she had bound to her service—as well as Visharos and the Undertaker into the throne room. Along the way, Henrietta took note of the signs of wealth and luxury the Lahmians enjoyed; there were expensive furs, furniture inlaid with gold and precious gems, and ancient artifacts from across the world. When Henrietta thought about how she had been living in the forests, drinking the blood of beasts to survive, she was nearly overcome with jealousy and rage.

"Greetings, sisters," she said instead as she entered the throne room through a side door. "I am Henrietta von Carstein. You seem to be troubled by invaders."

"And not just Dwarfs." Henrietta, despite being a proud von Carstein, paused at the regal voice. "It seems that one of my wayward children seeks my head as well."

Neferata, first of the Vampires, rose slowly from her throne. She was a tall, pale-skinned beauty that radiated power. She wore clothing similar to what she'd worn when she had been queen of Lahmia, in ancient Nehekhara, albeit with profane symbols of death. Resting against the side of her throne was a long staff, adorned with a glowing skull; at her side was a golden khopesh, a curved sword. Both items radiated power that Henrietta could sense from across the chamber.

"You have only yourself to blame," Henrietta mocked. "After all, it was your own lust for power that brought you here. You must have passed it on to the rest of us."

The dozens of lesser Vampires hissed at her disrespectful tone. Henrietta noticed that all of them were women, and all wore fine clothing from the Empire, Bretonnia, Kislev, and the Border Princes; the least of them was at least a minor noblewoman. Henrietta wondered just how far Neferata's eyes and ears went; it was a shame to destroy such a spy network, but her own needs came first.

"It seems that you also inherited my pride," Neferata said, eyeing Henrietta with distaste. "Why have you come here, and why have you let the Dwarfs break through my defenses?"

Henrietta smiled. "A simple matter of revenge. I have an army, but not enough Vampires to lead it well, nor a way to expand it quickly enough for my needs."

"What does that have to do with…" one of Neferata's handmaidens waved at the ceiling, which shook from Dwarf artillery. "This!?"

"I wanted to put you in a position where you could not refuse me." Henrietta's smile didn't waver. "If you serve me, I will ensure that you escape from here with me. If not… well, it would take some time to locate a new home. The Dwarfs are regaining lost territory every day; this attack would have happened sooner or later, but at least I offer salvation."

The more Henrietta spoke, the more Neferata's expression darkened. "How dare you." Drawing her staff and her sword, she stepped away from her throne and towards the von Carstein. "How _dare_ you! I am Neferata, first of all Vampires! You are a mongrel; how many generations removed from me are you? Yet you _dare_ to command _me_!?"

It took all of Henrietta's willpower not to break before Neferata's power, but her hatred made her stand tall.

"I 'dare' because you are a relic, a reminder of millennia past." Henrietta drew her swords, but kept her stance relaxed. "Once my enemies are gone, I will lead our kind to the destiny they were always meant to reach: as the natural rulers of the living!" Henrietta's voice rose to a scream. "You seek to maintain the status quo, to slowly feed on mortals, but also to let them do as they please. The time of stagnation is over! The Empire advances; even the Dwarfs have changed their status more in the last decade than in the last thousand years!"

"You would bring ruin to us all!" a Lahmian shrieked.

"If that is how it must be, then so be it!" Henrietta screamed back. "I would rather see Vampires burn away than slink back into the shadows like rats!"

Neferata was now almost upon her. "And what is to keep me from killing you and taking my forces through the secret passageway?"

Henrietta calmed down, then smiled again. "Because you would have to get past me and my army, and though you are powerful, you cannot get past us all and still get away from the Dwarfs. Your choices are to either remain here and be slaughtered, or follow me to a new future."

Neferata raised her khopesh. "I will never bow my head to a mongrel like you!"

"I was not talking to you," Henrietta said, "I was talking to your followers. I wonder, are they as proud as their mistress?"

Neferata paused, then looked behind her to see many of the Lahmians whispering amongst themselves. Henrietta took the opportunity to continue speaking.

"Those who would survive this battle, who would claim what is rightfully ours, swear yourselves to me!" She then sneered at her distant ancestor. "Or stay here, and taste death for a final time at Dwarf hands."

As if to emphasize her words, the main door to the throne room buckled from a mighty blow. The bracings held, but everyone knew that it wouldn't last forever. One of the Lahmians shrieked, then pulled up her skirts and fled to Henrietta's side of the room. Before she could reach safety, a bolt of magic flew out from Neferata's staff, turning the lesser Vampire into ash.

Henrietta took advantage of the distraction and lashed out with her swords; Neferata blocked both blades with her staff, but the rest of the Vampires were shocked out of their stupor.

"Go!" Henrietta shouted as she weaved a deadly dance around the ancient Vampire. "Visharos, get them outside!"

Most of the Lahmians chose self-preservation over loyalty and ran; Visharos quickly ushered them into the ranks of the Grave Guard, who then marched them back the way they'd come. Henrietta didn't worry about one of her new 'recruits' trying to usurp her while she was fighting Neferata; though he was a brute, Visharos was loyal to her above all others, and strong enough to keep the other Vampires in line.

All thoughts of what came next vanished in the heat of the moment. Henrietta's swords were a blur of silver and dark magic, a rain of blows that would have seen most Humans turned into piles of meat, but Neferata deflected it all with ease. She then blasted the younger Vampire back with more dark magic before nicking Henrietta's cheek with her blade.

"Whelp," Neferata snarled. "You take my servants, then think to beat _me_? I'll use your skull for a goblet!"

Henrietta stumbled back, but when she heard a thunderous crash, she grinned. "I'd save my energy for the fight, if I were you."

Neferata turned, just as the dust began to settle around the fallen doors; dozens of roaring Dwarfs charged in, all with the orange crests of the Slayers and howling for vengeance. At their head was a Dwarf that towered over the others; unlike the rest of his brethren, Ungrim Ironfist was armored in ancient gromril, and looked every inch the part of a king. Only his massive orange crest of hair proved that he was just as much a Slayer as the others.

"Vampire bitch!" the last Slayer King bellowed, as his warriors attacked Neferata's remaining supporters. "Today, Silver Pinnacle returns to my people!"

Before Neferata could reply, Henrietta lunged and stabbed her through the leg. Neferata backhanded her across the room, then tore the sword out and tossed it aside.

"Betrayal, even at the end," Ironfist grunted. "You will die without honor, monster."

Neferata smirked. "What need have I of honor? I have eternal life!"

"Not after today." Ironfist hefted his massive runic axe and charged, a dozen other Slayers joining him.

Neferata was an ancient being, more powerful than most mortals could ever hope to be. For all her strength, however, she was still cornered by Dwarfs who felt no fear of pain or death. Every Slayer who died was replaced by another that ran into the room, while the Slayer King, who had faced the most dangerous creatures in the Old World and come out on top, pushed her back to the throne.

Finally, Neferata's undoing came from a single golden chalice; it had been knocked over when most of her servants had fled, and the blood it had held was now drying on the floor. As Neferata retreated, she was so focused on avoiding Ironfist's axe that she didn't see the chalice until her foot landed on it, making her stumble. Unbalanced, she was unable to avoid the axe, which buried itself deep into her chest; Ironfist grunted as he ripped the weapon out, ignoring the spray of blood that drenched him.

The first of all Vampires, the former Queen of Lahmia fell to the floor, weakly reaching out for her sword. Her fingers had just reached the hilt when Ironfist brought his axe down one last time and decapitated her.

"Bring wood and oil," Ironfist called out as the sound of battle faded. "I won't risk this one coming back. Not even ash will remain."

As several Dwarfs did as he commanded, Ironfist searched for the Vampire that had been fighting Neferata. To his disappointment, Henrietta had fled, only staying long enough to grab her fallen sword.

"Damned undead," Ironfist muttered, then raised his voice. "Send word to Karaz-a-Karak! Silver Pinnacle is ours once again!"

…

When Henrietta rejoined her forces, the first thing she noticed was that there were far fewer Lahmians remaining. Only twenty were still present, though a pile of ash and bloodstained clothing hinted at what became of the rest.

"More than a few of them sought to take over the army, or wanted to return to their mistress," the Undertaker said, in answer to Henrietta's unasked question. "Visharos showed them the error of their ways. All who remain are loyal to you."

Henrietta ignored him. She marched up to the nearest Lahmian, whom she sensed was the most powerful, and grabbed her by the throat. "What is your name?"

The Vampire, her Imperial clothing now torn and spattered by blood and filth, swallowed. "Leandra, my lady."

"And who is your master, Leandra?"

"You are, my lady. We shall forever serve you."

Henrietta grinned and let go of the Lahmian. "Leandra, you shall be my lieutenant, and shall command my scouts and spies. The services you gave to Neferata shall now be given to me." Leandra nodded, but Henrietta wasn't done. "Be thorough in your work. I will hold you personally responsible for any failures."

Leandra could not nod fast enough. "What is your will, my lady?"

Henrietta raised her voice, so that all the Vampires and Necromancers could hear her. "We march for Sylvania! From there, we prepare for our war against the Empire!"

Visharos raised a fist. "So commands the Vengeful Lady!"

 _The Vengeful Lady, eh?_ Henrietta mused. _Yes… that will do nicely._

…

Shepard was no stranger to pain. She had been shot, stabbed, set on fire, pummeled by everything from Humans to Krogan, and had even _died_. Despite all that, she couldn't help but scream in agony as another contraction hit.

"How…" she panted for a moment. "How long was that?"

"Three minutes since the last contraction," the midwife said patiently. "You're doing well. One or two more and you're done."

"I'd better be," Shepard muttered through clenched teeth. "It's been two fucking hours!"

Dimly, Shepard could hear the sound of clanking armor and shuffling feet from outside, and if she hadn't been in so much pain, she would have laughed. When it had become clear that Shepard was going into labor, everyone had realized that taking her to a physician would take too long—though if they had known that she'd be in labor for two hours, they would have done it anyway—and had taken her to the barracks instead. Parral had taken over things for a while, ordering a room scrubbed completely clean before doing his best to lessen the pain until a midwife could be summoned. After that, Richter had assigned several guards to watch over every entrance to the room, be it window or door, and not let anyone save the Emperor himself inside.

Shepard wondered if the men outside were getting tired, then screamed again as another contraction came, this one far worse than any before.

"Oh, this is it!" The midwife gently patted her shoulder, then moved around to be in front of her legs. "On three, you're going to push. One… two… _three_!"

Her throat burned from screaming, but Shepard didn't care; there was too much pain to not release it. Biology took its course, and Shepard _pushed_ ; she felt something, but at that moment, she was too tired and in too much pain to do more than flop back on the bed and breathe heavily.

Then she heard the crying. It was small, but it was strong and clear. Shepard didn't know much about babies, but something inside told her that that was a good sign.

"It's a boy!" The midwife cut the umbilical cord and, with the help of two others, cleaned up the mess and the baby. "He's very healthy."

 _My son… that's_ my _son!_ Shepard weakly raised her arms. "Can I hold him?"

A moment later, a blanket-swathed bundle was placed in her arms. The baby's face was still red and splotchy, and to Shepard he looked like just about every other baby, but the tiny wisp of blond hair was the exact same color as a certain poet.

"Hello, David," Shepard whispered, holding her son close. "Things are gonna get interesting, aren't they?"

 **And thus, David Shepard is born! Shepard has been many things: genius, soldier, hero, Commander, then General, and now, a mom. It makes me smile, and I hope it did the same for you.**

 **I hope you took note of the new engineers. They're going to be kind of important later.**

 **Now, this chapter didn't focus on Shepard as much because, well, she couldn't do a whole lot, being pregnant. Since I didn't want a 2000-word chapter, I decided to see what Henrietta was doing. It turned out that she was preparing for one hell of a fight. For those who think Neferata would destroy Ungrim Ironfist… from all the lore I've found on her, while Neferata** _ **is**_ **a capable fighter, she's a sorceress and plotter first. With Henrietta throwing a wrench in her works, once the Slayer King got within reach of Neferata, it was only a matter of time. Also, I like the idea of the Dwarfs actually reclaiming their lost territory; it might have actually happened, had the mess known as End Times not gone down *grumbles*.**

 **Anyway, I was doing some thinking about what Henrietta's abilities are and what gear she has. Looking at the last Vampire Counts Army Book, she's got heavy armor, two magical hand weapons (haven't decided on what they do yet, might just be generic 'evil magic'), at least a level 2 Wizard (maybe greater), sometimes has a mount, and the following Vampiric powers:**

 **Red Fury: Short version, every successful kill (or at least a wound) grants an additional attack.**

 **Quickblood: Always strikes first. In story terms, makes her crazy-fast.**

 **Dread Knight: +2 Weapon Skill (for those who don't know, it means she's better at hitting things in melee) and must always issue/accept challenges. I might ignore/modify that second part, for the sake of plot.**

 **Summon Creatures of the Night: Basically, not only can she summon more undead, like Zombies and Skeleton Warriors, she can do the same for Bat Swarms, Dire Wolves, and Fell Bats.**

 **So, yeah. Henrietta is a bit on the terrifying side, more so now that she has a bunch of new 'friends'. I also want to give a shout-out to my friend, mordreek, for coming up with her new title, the Vengeful Lady. Thanks, buddy!**

 **Next Chapter: Shepard might have a child, but her job's not done! Familiar faces have gone to war, and Shepard must not only save lives, but also find the next shard.**

 **Flee, flee from Mannfred von Muffin!**


	17. Lost Honor, Part 1

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. I DO, HOWEVER, GET TO HELP SHEPARD WITH HER PROBLEM WITH HORSES, AS WELL AS MAKE IT WORSE.**

 **Well, Shepard may have a kid now, but that doesn't mean her job is over! In fact, it's about to get a lot more interesting.**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 17

Lost Honor, Part 1

" _I hate Chaos. I know a lot of people say that, but I hate it beyond the whole 'Daemons are evil, blah, blah, blah'. I hate Chaos because of what it does to people. It corrupts good men, turns them into monsters; the worst part, though, is that a lot of those poor bastards still think they're the good guys."—General Alexia Shepard_

…

"And now that the mixture has a more secure casing, it'll be less prone to being ruined by water." Shepard wiped the dust from her hands and turned to the only other person in the room. "What do you think, David?"

At only three months old, her son was unable to answer, or even truly understand what his mother was saying. Still, he burbled and clapped happily, and that made Shepard smile.

"Aw, thanks!" She walked over and kissed him on the head. "I think it's a good start, too!"

Some of her apprentices considered it odd that Shepard would bring David into her workshop and explain the nuances of every project she worked on. Although she was by no means an expert on parenting, she did know that speaking to children helped their developing brains. When she had explained that to those who asked, David was bombarded by baby-talk from both her officers and her apprentices. Shepard, however, explained mathematics and chemistry; she found it far more fun than playing with her son's toes—though she did that as well—and when it made David smile or laugh, then it was even better.

"Well, that's it for today," Shepard said happily. "I'll set up a mass-production schedule for the new cartridges tomorrow, and have a new factory repurposed by the end of the week. Other than that, I think it's time to start working on something bigger." She held out her hand and let David hold one of her fingers. "One noise for recreating and improving the Steam Tanks, two noises for Eliza's gunship."

"Uh! Wuh!" Then David laughed.

"Three noises. I didn't expect that." Shepard then shrugged and nodded sagely. "I guess I'll start work on both. I can multitask." She then scooped David into her arms and kissed his nose. "Thanks for the help, kiddo." David laughed, but both of them turned their heads when someone knocked on the door. "Who is it?"

"It is I, General!" Locke called out. "May I enter?"

"Sure thing." Shepard grinned as the Lieutenant came in. "You know, you didn't have to fetch me; I was actually going to see you all early today."

Locke made a show of looking disappointed. "Oh, I have ruined such a rare event!"

With David in her arms, Shepard was unable to smack Locke, so she settled for sticking her tongue out at him. "Don't be an ass. Seriously, though, what's the matter?"

"It seems that we will be busy again," Locke said, his smile dimming. "Gettmann has returned, and it's not for a visit, like when David was born."

At the mention of the Celestial Wizard, Shepard went still; the quiet man had said that, other than when he offered congratulations on David's birth, he would devote his time to finding out when the next shard would come, and thus wouldn't be around much.

Shepard still wanted to go home. It had been just over two years since she had come to this world, but she missed her old friends and family. The problem, however, was that she now had a son. Could she take David to another world? She saw no evidence that she couldn't, but what if he grew up and became used to living in the Empire? Did she have the right to take him to another universe, where he would feel as alien as she still sometimes did? At the very least, she felt she should talk to Felix about it, if she ever saw him again; even if he played no part in David's life, he _was_ the father of her child, and she respected him enough to discuss the matter with him.

After more than a little soul-searching, she still didn't have an answer. What she did decide on, however, was that the shards could still be dangerous in the wrong hands. She would put off making any final decisions until all the shards were secured. It might have been a delaying tactic, but since she had no idea how long it would take to find every shard, she didn't feel too bad about it.

"I'll go see him," Shepard said. "Spread the word, tell the men to get ready."

"That might take a while," Locke commented. "You've seen how many new recruits we have."

Nuln's recent rise in power had resulted in many soldiers volunteering for Shepard's army, especially when stories of her battles in Karak Eight Peaks started to spread. A few weeks after David was born, Shepard had put a halt to all recruitment; it was starting to drain Nuln's other armies. Besides, at nearly two thousand strong, and fast communications still out of reach, Shepard had reached the limit trying to balance strength and control.

"Well, you'd better start moving," Shepard said, then headed for the door. In her arms, David yawned.

"And how is the little prince?" Locke asked as he followed after her.

"He's been laughing a lot," Shepard said proudly. "I think all my science-talk is entertaining him."

"That's good to hear; I've never seen a baby look so happy." Locke snorted. "All the babies back home were just so… noisy."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "No empty cribs at your house?"

"More like it was my father's house," Locke corrected, sounding slightly bitter. "And almost all of them were half-siblings. Father liked having mistresses; he kept getting older, while they all stayed the same age. I think he spent more time collecting bastard children than spending time with their mothers, mine included." Locke shrugged. "At least he treated my mother a little better; then again, she was his wife."

"Sorry to hear that." Shepard wasn't sure what else to say. Locke's history with his family was rarely brought up, though he had hinted that he wasn't on the best terms with them. Shepard was just grateful that though Locke liked to flirt, he knew how to keep it in his pants.

"It's an old wound, General." Locke shrugged again. "Honestly, I'm just glad that my older brother is first in line for succession; he's better at dealing with my father than I was." He stopped. "This is where we part ways, General; I'll see to it that the men get ready, and then I'll join you and the others for the meeting."

"I'll fill you in on anything you miss," Shepard promised; when Locke was gone, she looked down at David. "You're not dating anyone until you're eighteen, buster. I already found a couple grey hairs last week, I don't need more."

David gurgled in a way that sounded suspiciously like he was agreeing. At least, Shepard hoped that's what it was.

With that out of the way, Shepard headed to the barracks' meeting room; Richter, Parral, Michael, Leitzer and Eliza, and Gettmann were all waiting.

"Hey, guys," Shepard said, "did I miss anything?"

"We were waiting for you, General," Gettmann said calmly.

"Well, I'm here." Shepard handed David over to Eliza, who immediately took him to the corner of the room and cooed over him. "Locke will join us when he gets the men ready to move. What's the situation?"

"I and many of my peers have seen another shard fall from the sky," Gettmann said; his tone was serious, but his face remained almost sleepy-looking. "Unfortunately, it is between two forces that are at war."

"That sounds familiar," Shepard drawled. "Is this going to take another huge trip?"

Gettmann shook his head. "No, this shard is within the Empire's borders. However, in order to get it, we must battle against the forces of Chaos."

Shepard twitched; the thought of Chaos brought back memories of Middenheim, and how so many of her men had died horrible deaths.

"Please tell me it's not the plagued bastards again," Richter said, almost pleading. "Once was enough."

"I do not believe so," Gettmann said, and Shepard and Richter sighed in relief. "In my dreams, I see a tide of blood and shattered bones."

"Yeah, that sounds _so_ much better," Shepard muttered, then thought about what that meant. Details regarding Chaos were hard to find, since such knowledge could tempt people into following the Dark Gods. However, the mention of blood suggested that the enemy worshiped the so-called Blood God; they were fierce warriors, fearless and brutal, and didn't care whether the enemy died, or they did.

"These heretics dare tread the land of Sigmar?" Michael dug his fists into the table. "We must crush them, before their corruption spreads."

"I fear it already has." Gettmann looked sad. "This army could not have entered the Empire from the outside. I believe that the citizens of the area have fallen to the false promises of Chaos."

So it wouldn't be some invading force that Shepard's army would be driving off this time; Shepard had no idea what she would be up against, but she frowned at the realization that she would be fighting people that, until Chaos had corrupted them, she would have fought to protect. Now, she would have to kill them.

"Where are we going?" Shepard asked, sounding tired.

"In my dreams, I have seen the city of Wurtbad in the distance." Gettmann shrugged at the looks he got at his rather specific answer. "I spent the early years of my life near there, and I never forgot it. From the angle of the sun, it was on the Stirland side of things."

Richter pulled a map from a shelf and placed it on the table. "Then our destination would be somewhere around…" he placed his finger near the border of Stirland and Talabecland. "Here, right?"

"I believe so," Gettmann said.

Parral hummed in thought and stroked his beard. "If I recall correctly, there is a fortress near that area, garrisoned by a Knightly Order."

Shepard groaned. "Great. That means they're either going to help us, or they'll try and kill us. Story of my life."

"What shall we do, General?" Richter asked.

"We don't really have much choice." Shepard sighed. "I'll send a message to the Emperor, tell him we're on the job. It should take us a few days to get there by road, but I want to let the men rest for a day before we introduce ourselves." She gave her officers, especially Michael, a stern look. "Until I'm sure that we're dealing with Chaos, _no one_ is to attack. Am I clear?"

Everyone nodded, though Michael scowled. Shepard didn't let her relief show; the last thing she needed was to start a fight with the wrong people, which had happened more than a few times in the Empire's history.

"General, I have a question." Shepard turned to Eliza, who looked nervous. "Will you be taking David with you?"

"Of course not," Shepard said. "I'm not taking a baby into a war."

"Oh, good." Eliza bit her lip. "Who will take care of him, then?"

Shepard grinned at her. "You, of course."

Eliza did a double-take between David and his mother. "M-me? Why?"

"Well, I need someone to manage the workshop and the factory," Shepard explained. "You've got the best head for numbers and organization; I'll admit, you're even better than I am. And, most importantly, you treat David right; I know you'll take care of him."

Eliza beamed. "Thank you, General! I won't let you down!"

Shepard nodded; since David had been born, Eliza had doted on him just as much as Shepard, if not more. Shepard saw her young protégé as a little sister, or even a daughter; in fact, if Eliza didn't already have a family, she would have considered adopting her.

"Now that that's settled, all we have to do is wait for Locke to show up so we can tell him what's going on."

At that moment, the door opened and Locke stepped in. "I feel my ears burning, General. Were you praising me?"

"I don't think it's possible to praise idiocy," Shepard deadpanned, not missing a beat, even if she didn't mean it. "Richter, you bring him up to speed. I have work to do."

…

The army had been told that it was heading out, but the soldiers were less excited about glory and more that they would be seeing their leader in action again. Even veterans who had been with the army since Middenheim couldn't help but grin as Shepard marched up to the front ranks. It had been a year since she had worn her armor, and to the private relief of many—including Shepard—she looked like she had never been out of commission.

 _If I ever see Miranda again, I'm giving her a hug for doing such good work on me,_ Shepard thought to herself. _I got my figure back in just a few weeks; hell, I don't even have stretch-marks!_

Shepard's armor had gone through several small alterations since returning from Karak Eight Peaks. Against her wishes, her left shoulder-guard had been replaced with a new piece that was sculpted to look like a skull. She had been told that the new plate represented her skill in dealing—and cheating—death. Since the Empire seemed determined to mess with her armor, Shepard decided to do a little modifying of her own; a bandolier was strapped across her breastplate, loaded with cartridges for her pistol. She felt that the practicality helped balance out the decorations.

Though she would be hard-pressed to admit it, Shepard missed wearing her armor. After so long going from one battle to another, not having something to keep her safe made her feel naked. Now, with her armor on her body, and her pistol and Unbak Urk at her sides, she felt complete.

"All right, boys," Shepard called out, her voice echoing across most of her troops, "let's get this show on the road! We're finding that shard and bringing it back! For the Empire!"

"FOR THE EMPIRE!" The officers and many of the army's veterans merely saluted as they shouted, but most of the newer troops cheered and waved their weapons overhead. They were excited to be serving under a rising star like Shepard, who had to wonder how long their mood would last when they saw what they would be fighting.

Shepard put her wolf-helm on, but as she led the army to the gates of Nuln, she glanced back. There, watching from the barracks' tower, was Eliza; in her arms, sound asleep despite the noise, was David.

Even if she never got home, Shepard knew that she had another reason to fight. The Empire—indeed, the entire _world_ —was a dangerous place. She would do anything to make it safer for her son.

…

After the first day of marching, the smoke above Nuln was barely visible in the sunset; some of the troops were already homesick as they made camp. Shepard could sympathize; after almost a year, she was used to the noise of her workshop, debating the merits of various strategies with her officers and creating new designs with her apprentices. More than anything, though, she wanted to hold her son close; being deprived of that hourly comfort bothered her more than she would ever admit. So she settled for keeping herself busy, trying to ignore the aching feeling in her chest.

"Locke, why do you look so thoughtful?" She asked as she sat next to the Lieutenant. "And should I be worried?"

"No, nothing is wrong," Locke assured her. "It's just that, if I recall correctly, some of the Knightly Orders in the southern regions host tournaments around this time of year. They're not usually public; typically, they're used for settling rivalries with a minimum of bloodshed."

"Damn, I would have liked to see a show." Shepard frowned. "Do you think that this will affect our mission?"

"I don't know," Locke admitted. "But it might."

Shepard sighed. "You know, I figured it wouldn't be simple, but it _would_ be nice to know what the complication is."

"I'm sorry, General." Shepard appreciated how Locke seemed genuinely remorseful. "I'm not as familiar with the traditions of the knights in this area."

"Don't worry about it," Shepard said, patting the man on the arm. "I'm used to dealing with unknowns."

…

The trip to Stirland was, aside from a small group of Beastmen that ran away after a volley of Handgunner fire, largely uneventful; if Shepard hadn't been at the front of an army, she would have almost called the journey enjoyably peaceful. She liked the series of small hills, light mists, and the forests that could be seen in the north.

"Remind me to come back here sometime," she said to Richter, "this place is kinda nice."

Richter gave her a funny look. "You _want_ to be in the province that neighbors Sylvania?"

Shepard blinked. "Oh. Right. Never mind." She huffed. "I can't have anything nice, can I?"

"Well, you have David," Richter pointed out.

"Yeah, I do." Shepard's helmet was off, allowing Richter to see her happy smile.

If he was being honest, Richter liked Shepard's change in attitude since her son was born. From the moment he'd met her, Shepard had always seemed tired, like she'd seen and been through too much, and it had only gotten worse as time went on. During her pregnancy, she had been a whirlwind of manic energy and suppressed panic. Now, though she still had the same determination, there was something softer and kinder about her; Richter figured that, after losing so much over the years, Shepard was overwhelmingly happy that she'd gained something.

"Whoa, that's kinda cool." Shepard's comment made Richter divert his attention from his General. After pushing through the mists, the army found itself not far from a large castle; its stone walls were dark, almost black, while the tops of the towers were a deep red.

Richter couldn't help but scoff. "Our barracks in Nuln is more impressive."

"Maybe, but old castles like that are still cool." Shepard pointed ahead. "And look, they're coming out to say hello."

Sure enough, the gate to the keep was opening up, and a dozen knights were riding out. Most were armed with lances, but a few had odd-looking weapons, which looked like a cross between a mace and a pickaxe, as well. One, clearly the leader, wasn't riding a horse; its body was like that of a lion, while its head was that of an eagle. It was larger than any normal horse, and barded in thick plate. Richter had never seen a Demigryph before, but he immediately thought that it was one of the most majestic creatures in the Old World. Still, he wasn't about to let such a creature, to say nothing of the knights, near the General without knowing if they were friend or foe.

"Ready yourselves, men!" Richter placed himself directly between Shepard and the approaching knights, while the other Greatswords took up a defensive position.

Shepard, for her part, did not put on her helmet, though she did rest her hand on the handle of Unbak Urk. "Take it easy, boys, let's see what they want."

To Richter's relief, the knights did not launch into a full charge; instead, they came to a halt just a few yards from the head of the army.

"What brings an army to the gates of Ironrock Keep?" the leader of the knights demanded. His voice was soft, but with a core of iron underneath, and the way he gripped his pickaxe-mace hinted that he was ready for a fight. The armor he wore was dark, almost black, with a red tabard over it; unlike his fellows, who wore helms, his face was concealed by shadows cast by his coif.

"Wait, is that where we are?" Shepard gently, but firmly, pushed past the Greatswords and stood before the knights with a disarming smile, even though the Demigryph's beak was mere feet away from her face. "Sorry, your keep isn't on any maps."

"The Knights of Ironrock prefer privacy," the knight said.

"Knights of Ironrock… why does that sound familiar?" Shepard's eyes went wide. "Oh, now I remember! I saw some of you guys at Blutschnitter Castle a couple years ago!"

The knight tilted his head. "The only woman I recall being there was someone named Shepard. Are you she?"

Shepard's smile became a full-faced grin. "General Alexia Shepard, at your service."

The knight bowed his head slightly. "I am Gregor Helschlitt, Grand Master of the Knights of Ironrock, and you, General Shepard, have not answered my question. What brings your army to my home?"

"Two things, really." Those nearby were amazed at how calm Shepard was being in front of the Grand Master of a Knightly Order. "First, we're tracking down a magical artifact that… well, we don't know what it does, but it's better to put it in a safe place."

Helschlitt nodded, accepting the logic. "And the other reason?"

"I have it on good authority that some Chaos assholes are operating in the area." Richter, and several others, nearly laughed at her blunt answer. "We're going to put them in the ground."

"Chaos, you say?" Helschlitt spat off to the side in disgust. "I was unaware of such a threat. Please, follow us to Ironrock Keep, and we will discuss the matter further."

Shepard shifted her gaze to the castle. "I don't think all of my men will fit in there."

"I will have our servants provide additional supplies, if you wish." Richter liked the offer, though he was a little unnerved by the constant grim tone from Helschlitt. It was almost as if he was expecting the worst to happen at any time.

Though, if they were going to be fighting Chaos, perhaps it was justified.

…

The first thing Shepard felt when entering Ironrock Keep was cold. Not just a physical cold, though it was colder than it should have been for an autumn day, but the kind of coldness that comes from a grim nature that bordered on despair. From what Shepard had been told, most people who lived near Sylvania were like that.

"Forgive me for being brief, General, but my Order is busy with a traditional meeting with another group of knights." Helschlitt pulled back his coif, revealing a scarred face and close-cropped hair.

"Is this about the private tournament thing I heard about?" Shepard asked, idly glancing over at a scroll that contained the Ironrock Knights' most prestigious honors; she noticed that three Emperors, all from before Karl Franz's reign, had put signatures on the scroll.

"It is," Helschlitt said. "My Order has been accused of sullying the honor of another. The scribes cannot find any record of such thing, but I cannot back down from this challenge. It would leave a stain upon both Orders."

"And the only way to clear it all up is to have one small fight?" Shepard guessed; when Helschlitt nodded, she sighed. "Why can't you just talk it over?"

Helschlitt coughed, though it sounded suspiciously like a bitter laugh. "Words can twist the truth. Only actions can define who we really are. If I do not answer this challenge in a duel of honor, this simple matter could become a blood feud, or perhaps even all-out war."

"A small fight that prevents a big one." Shepard sighed again. "I get it, I really do, but I still don't like it."

"Do not worry, General," Helschlitt assured her, "these duels are rarely fatal. I would not be surprised if both Orders share a feast afterwards, and perhaps join the same campaign."

Shepard looked up at that. "Do you think you could both help with my mission?"

"The threat of Chaos is one we cannot ignore." Helschlitt's eyes narrowed. "Rest assured, General, no matter the outcome of the tournament, the Knights of Ironrock will ride with you."

"Thank you," Shepard said. "What kind of numbers do you have?"

"We are a small Order," Helschlitt admitted. "I can call upon slightly fewer than two hundred knights. However, I promise you that they are all champions of the Empire."

Shepard smiled anyway; two hundred heavy cavalry was no small force, especially when supported by infantry to guard the flanks, Handgunners and artillery to cover their advance, and the light cavalry to swing around and catch the enemy from behind or react to unexpected development.

"Even if it's just your men, I'll take the help," she said. "What about this other Order, the one picking a fight?"

Helschlitt sighed and rubbed his temples, as if warding off a headache. "They are a boisterous group, but they have always been rather easygoing. Our relationship has long been one of friendly competition; never has either side ever issued a challenge like this. It has been troubling, to say the least." He shrugged. "Then again, the Order of the Golden Hammer has always been temperamental."

Shepard blinked. "Wait, I know those guys! I saw them at Blutschnitter Castle too!"

"Yes, members of both our Orders had been in Talabecland when they encountered the Reiksmarshal," Helschlitt explained. "That was why we fought together against the undead."

Shepard groaned. She could feel a headache of her own starting to form.

…

Miles away, two figures met in the mouth of a cave. One was concealed by a cloak and hood, though it did nothing to hide his impressive physique. The other stuck to the shadows, but was otherwise unconcealed; he was tall, far taller than a normal man, but thin, almost to the point of emaciation. He wore blue robes, inlaid with gold thread that formed symbols that hurt the eyes of mortal men; his torso was encased in thick plate armor, also in blue and gold. In his hands, which ended in sharp, black nails, he carried an ebon staff that ended in a slit-pupiled eye that twitched as if alive. The monster's face, with skin as pale as snow, was only barely Human; his eyes were completely golden, save for thin pupils, and a smooth horn sprouted from the left side of his head and curled gently upwards.

"We cannot hold them back for much longer," the cloaked man said, his voice coming out as a guttural snarl. "The men burn with the desire to kill."

The creature before him didn't react. "Remind them that they will have all the battle they could ever want, but only if they continue to follow my instructions."

" _Our_ instructions," the man growled. "Do not forget that we are equals in this, Terath'orr."

"Yes, yes," the Sorcerer said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Just keep your followers in check for one more day, and I promise you that the knights will die."

The man snarled again, then turned and stormed off, leaving Terath'orr alone. The Sorcerer went deeper into the cave, where a black-iron brazier held a hovering ball of blue fire. Terath'orr plunged one hand into the flame, but was unharmed; when he pulled his hand back out, a small mote of fire was held in his palm. The fire twisted like a living thing, before settling into the form of a golden ring for several seconds; then, with a flick of his wrist, Terath'orr dismissed the illusion.

"Take your skulls, fool," he whispered to himself. "The _real_ prize shall be mine."

 **Well, that's that! I know, no action this time, but this was an introduction to this arc, which I promise will not be as long as the last one. Anyway, if you recall, I introduced some original Knightly Orders near the beginning of this story, and I thought I'd expand upon them.**

 **Now, for those of you who know the tabletop game, you might be wondering why a Grand Master is on a Demigryph; after all, they can't do that in the game. My response? Why the hell** _ **can't**_ **they ride a Demigryph? They're used by the elite of the knights, and only the best can become a Grand Master, so…? Anyway, yeah, Helschlitt rides a Demigryph, and I gave his Order unique hand weapons.**

 **And Shepard is now fighting Chaos again. Thankfully, she's dealing with Khorne and Tzeentch, who are much easier to describe. If you recall, Nurgle-aligned stuff makes me sick (how appropriate) and the less said about Slaanesh, the better. In fact, Khorne is my favorite of the Chaos Gods (at least, his adherence to the survival of the fittest and his warrior… well, it's not always honor, but it's something). Tzeentch is a close second, mostly because His ever-changing ways embodies Chaos in its entirety more than the others.**

 **Next Chapter: Shepard begins her search for the shard, only to find that she's been caught in a web of intrigue and betrayal.**

 **Muffins for the Muffin God!**


	18. Lost Honor, Part 2

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. NOW THAT I'VE SAID THAT, KHORNE WON'T BOP ME ON THE HEAD. AND BY 'BOP', I MEAN 'SPLIT NOT ONLY MY BODY DOWN THE MIDDLE, BUT ALSO MY SOUL'.**

 **Before I start this chapter, I just want to address an issue that I have been getting many PMs about. Yes, I know about Total War: Warhammer. Yes, I plan on getting it. Yes, some of the stuff I do in that game may make its way into this story, if only because it will be interesting for the battle scenes. Speaking of, let's get started.**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 18

Lost Honor, Part 2

" _I have seen many things in my life. I have watched men fight to the last against hordes of greenskins and were torn apart for their courage. I have seen storms of magic that reduced entire armies to ash. I have even faced the horror of the undead and the Daemon. None of that, however, has ever terrified me more than the anger of General Shepard."—Gregor Helschlitt, Grand Master of the Knights of Ironrock_

…

The morning after arriving at Ironrock Keep, Shepard was surprised when, after waking up, she saw an army of knights waiting a short distance away. All of them were armed with two-handed mauls, and both they and their mounts were encased in thick armor, painted white and outlined in gold. Scattered throughout their ranks were banners bearing the image of Ghal Maraz on a shield of white.

More surprising than their presence, however, was the sheer number of knights that had arrived. Helschlitt had reported that his Order numbered around two hundred knights; if they were all present, then the Order of the Golden Hammer had nearly twice that many members.

"Quiet horses," she muttered to Michael as she joined the Warrior Priest at the edge of the camp. "I figured that that many horses would wake me up."

There was also the matter of Shepard being so close to so many horses; even after all this time, she still refused to ride one unless there was no other choice. There hadn't been that many when she'd met with Helschlitt, but now there were hundreds of the evil creatures, and without Unbak Urk near at hand, she couldn't even imagine braining the annoying things.

"I was as surprised as you, General," Michael replied. "The soil is soft, and the wind would keep scent and sound away from us, but I must admit, their sudden arrival is… disturbing."

Shepard had to agree, though aside from their sudden arrival, she saw nothing wrong with the knights. Still, it didn't help her uneasy feelings; that many snorting, smelly—in her opinion—animals just shouldn't appear out of nowhere like that.

She felt a little better when one of the knights urged his mount forward at a gentle trot. His helm was at his side, revealing a ruggedly handsome face; to Shepard's eye, he was probably only a few years older than her. Unlike the other knights, this man's breastplate was inlaid with a large ruby at the center, and small golden hammers stuck out from his shoulder-plates. Seeing the man's spotless armor made Shepard feel a little self-conscious; her own armor was back in her tent, and it wasn't nearly as clean on her best day.

"Greetings, milady," the man said, nodding his head in Shepard's direction, then turned to Michael. "Father. May I ask why an Imperial army is stationed outside Ironrock Keep?"

"Mostly just passing through," Shepard answered, then smiled. "Hi. General Alexia Shepard, and you are?"

The man blinked in surprise. "My apologies, General, I wasn't expecting… er…"

Shepard's smile changed into an amused smirk. _You weren't expecting a woman, right? Typical._

"No apologies needed," she said aloud, "and you still haven't identified yourself." She knew that the Order of the Golden Hammer had been on the way, and their heraldry was also a big hint, and Shepard had an idea of who she was speaking to, just not his name.

"Ah, yes." The man drew himself up on his horse. "I am Heinrich Treckburg, Grand Master of the Order of the Golden Hammer." His proud smile turned strained. "I have business with the Ironrock Knights."

Shepard turned her head to the closed gates of Ironrock Keep. Though she and her officers had been invited to stay within the keep's walls for the night, Shepard had politely refused; if something happened outside, she wanted to be there to deal with it.

"I think you're going to have to knock," she said, then raised her voice. "Sergeant Richter, Lieutenant Locke!"

Both officers stepped out from behind a tent, where they had been watching the exchange. "Yes, General?" Locke asked, while Richter kept a wary eye on the newcomers.

"Get the army ready to move," Shepard ordered. "We're starting our search of the area today; the knights can join us when they've finished their business."

"Right away, General!" Locke went back into the interior of the camp, speaking to lesser officers; Richter hesitated for just a moment, then joined him.

"You're searching for something?" Treckburg looked over the army, which was quickly being roused to full awareness.

"I'd tell you, but I honestly don't even know what it is." Shepard shrugged and gave a helpless smile. "And since time is of the essence, I'm afraid you'll have to get the details from Grand Master Helschlitt."

Treckburg smiled back. "Of course. I wish you well, General."

"Thanks." Shepard turned back to grab her armor and weapons. "Good luck on your tournament… thing."

Now the man's smile was almost jolly. "Not to worry, General; we do not need luck to settle this matter."

Shepard gave a friendly wave, dismissing the vaguely bad feeling she had about all of this.

…

"She is a remarkable woman," Helschlitt said as he and Treckburg watched Shepard's army march south. "Wouldn't you agree, Grand Master?"

"I would indeed," Treckburg said. "The devotion from her soldiers is impressive. Clearly, she has done much since the battle against the Vampires to warrant such loyalty." He tapped his chin in thought. "And the way she walked… she is a warrior, a reaper of lives, even if she does not yet know it."

Helschlitt glanced at the younger man, his eyes hidden by his coif. "Perhaps, though I think she would protest such a reputation." Treckburg only shrugged. "If I may ask, what happened to Grand Master Weitzman? I was not aware that he had retired from his post."

"He did not retire." Treckburg closed his eyes, and Helschlitt could see him struggling against his grief. "He was slain three months ago."

"I was not aware of this." Helschlitt bowed his head. "I offer my condolences. He was a good man. May I ask how he fell?"

"It was an ambush." Treckburg ground his teeth. "He and most of the Inner Circle were killed by Beastmen. By the time the force of knights I led had reached him, there was barely anything left of any of them."

"Damn the beasts," Helschlitt said darkly. "When the matter between our Orders is concluded, I would be honored to join with your forces and cleanse the monsters from these lands."

Treckburg nodded. "All of our enemies shall be slaughtered. We will suffer no insult or threat to our might."

"Yes, of course," Helschlitt agreed easily. He was used to the Templar Order's zealous hatred towards their enemies. "Shall we begin with our dispute now?"

"Absolutely," Treckburg said. "The sooner we start, the better."

Helschlitt opened the door to allow his counterpart through. Had he watched the younger man's face for a few seconds longer, he would have seen the trickle of blood fall from his eyes.

…

Shepard had spent an hour mapping out a grid-search of the immediate area, but by the time the sun set on the first day, she was already ready to call it quits.

"There's nothing here," she grumbled to her officers during a break. "There's nothing but hills and those creepy trees. I thought those blood-worshippers would just charge us like idiots."

"Perhaps they will," Gettmann said calmly. "We just have not found them yet." Shepard glared at him, and he quickly continued. "We still have time, General. The shard is not beyond our reach."

"That's not as helpful as you'd think," Richter said. "Just because it's not too late _now_ doesn't mean we'll find it. Stirland is a large province."

Gettmann pursed his lips, then straightened up. "I will meditate and try to be more precise."

Shepard raised an eyebrow as Gettmann walked away. "You know, Richter, I think you pissed him off."

Richter only shrugged. "What's he going to do? Frown at me?"

"You're talking about a guy who shoots lightning and drops freaking _comets_ from the sky," Shepard reminded him.

"Oh." Richter's face went white. "I, um… I'll go apologize when he's not so angry."

"Good idea." Shepard reluctantly turned to Locke. "Did the scouts find any sign of… well, anything?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary, General," Locke reported. "There were signs of a Beastman herd, but it is days old, and headed east."

"Well, if they're going to Sylvania, I won't stop them." Shepard scowled. "That place can burn to the ground for all I care."

"From your mouth to the gods' ears," Richter muttered.

A terrified scream suddenly caught their attention; it sounded like it came from near the front of the army, so Shepard and her officers ran—or in Locke's case, rode—to see what was going on. When they arrived, they saw a soldier convulsing madly on the ground; his arms and legs were twisted unnaturally, and it was clearly not from the shaking.

"What's going—" was all Shepard had time to say before the man exploded in a cloud of blue mist, gore, and scraps of armor.

Shouts of terror came from the dead man's unit, which only got worse as _something_ stepped out of the cloud. It was nearly twice the height of a man, though it was hunched over, and looked to be several times the mass. Its muscles twisted and bulged in ways that should have been impossible. One leg ended in a cloven hoof, while the other had a foot with nine long nails. Its arms were long tentacles with saw-toothed suckers, and its head was a single, pulsating eye. All over its body, spiraling horns sprouted and retracted at random intervals.

The newly formed Chaos Spawn looked around at the horrified Humans for a moment; then its ribcage split down the middle, revealing teeth and a black tongue. The mouth let out a high-pitched shriek, and the Spawn charged.

"Kill it!" Shepard yelled, as much to herself as her men. She drew her pistol and fired her entire clip into the Spawn's chest; blue blood spurted from the wounds, but the monster kept going.

Locke fired both of his pistols, and then his terrified horse reared up and struck the Spawn with its hooves, sending it staggering back. Michael roared prayers to Sigmar as he smashed his hammer into the Spawn's side, while Richter and several other Greatswords hacked at its arms.

The Spawn shrieked again, then grabbed a scout and shoved the screaming man into its chest-mouth. It crunched down, and the man's legs fell to the ground.

Gritting her teeth, Shepard grabbed Unbak Urk from her belt and charged; she ducked under a swiping tentacle, then swung with all her might, burying the axe into the Spawn's eye. She then had to pull back when three horns nearly impaled her; before the horns could retract, Shepard and Richter hacked them off. Shepard then chopped off one of the blinded Spawn's legs, while Michael shattered the other. Despite the injuries, the Spawn continued to flail about, killing another three scouts before they could pull back. The beast was finally killed when Richter and the other Greatswords chopped it into pieces. The mangled remains dissolved into an unrecognizable mush; where its blood had leaked into the ground, only scorched, dead soil was left.

"What…" Shepard was panting more from adrenaline than exertion. "What the actual _fuck_ was that about!?"

"That was a Spawn of Chaos, General," Parral said, not looking up from healing several men who had been injured by the monster's thrashing. "That poor soul was mutated into a monster by Chaos magic."

Michael grimaced. "We must find this sorcerer and kill him."

"Agreed," Shepard said, then turned to the unit that had contained the dead men. "Where were you scouting?"

The unit's Sergeant shook his head to clear his thoughts. "Half a league south of here, General. We'd just come back when… this happened."

"Then that's where we're going next." Shepard tightened her grip on Unbak Urk. "Richter, Locke, Michael, get your men together. I'm going to personally investigate where these guys came from."

…

The scouts had checked out a small copse of trees, and other than being a little withered, Shepard didn't see anything out of the ordinary. But something had to have happened to the man who became a Spawn, so Shepard and her force went deeper into the trees. It turned out that that was the right call, because they found a small cave built into a hill, both of which had been concealed by the trees.

"Careful," Shepard whispered to the men. "Locke, patrol the outer edge of the trees, in case whatever is inside gets past us and tries to run."

Locke nodded. "Very well, General."

"Michael, Richter, you and I will go inside. Everyone else will stay at the entrance; too many people in there at once, and we risk getting clustered."

Reluctantly, Michael's Swordsmen and Richter's Greatswords stayed behind; they felt a little better knowing that if something happened, they would be able to assist, just not right away.

Shepard led the way into the cave, followed by Richter; Michael brought up the rear, his glowing hammer making a handy torch as well as a calming presence.

"Does anyone know what all those squiggles mean?" Shepard asked quietly, pointing at the symbols scrawled over the walls. Whatever they meant, they made her stomach turn.

"They are the symbols of Chaos, General," Michael spat, then waved his hammer near the walls, the light burning away the writing. "For the sake of your soul, I suggest you not follow that path."

Shepard nodded. Some things were just not worth learning; it was why she had argued against scientists personally studying Reaper samples during the Reaper War, in case they became indoctrinated. It wasn't until three teams had had to be killed that people started listening to her warnings. She would be a hypocrite not to take similar advice.

"Do you hear that?" Richter whispered. "I think I heard a voice."

"Ignore it," Michael said, "it is the sound of Daemons, seeking to corrupt your soul."

"No, I hear it too," Shepard argued. "It sounds like someone is talking to someone else, not us."

Michael blinked. "Oh. Wait, now I hear it."

The three of them crept forward, and the low voice soon became louder and easier to hear.

"You fool!" the owner of the voice yelled. "You had the perfect opportunity to eliminate the Imperial army, and you chose instead to let them go! Why!?"

" _I thought your kind would approve, Sorcerer,"_ a distorted voice mocked. _"After all, Terath'orr was the one who demanded that we keep our intentions secret until it was time to destroy the Ironrock Knights."_

Shepard had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Yes, but the army was half-asleep when you arrived! I'm certain that my master would have approved of killing them."

" _That would not be battle, it would be murder. There is no glory to be had in slaughtering the helpless."_

"To hell with your glory! The blood you shed will power my master's rituals and unlock the magic contained within the relic he seeks! Now hurry up and destroy the knights!"

Shepard turned her head towards the two men and mouthed 'Relic?', only to receive shaking heads. It _could_ be that that the Sorcerer was talking about the shard; at the very least, he needed bloodshed and death for something dangerous, and that was all Shepard needed to act.

With a quick chopping motion, Shepard urged her teammates forward, then drew her pistol in her left hand, her shield strapped to her arm, with Unbak Urk in her right. Considering that all three of them were wearing heavy armor that clanked no matter how quietly they walked, Shepard was glad that the people talking to each other were so distracted.

As the three of them rounded a corner in the tunnel, they saw a figure hunched over a skull that had been opened up to be used as a bowl. In fact, he looked to be talking _into_ it; Shepard didn't claim to know much about magic, but she felt she would be safe in assuming that he was using sorcery to communicate with someone else.

With a few hand gestures from Shepard, the three warriors crept up from behind the Sorcerer from three different directions. Shepard was just about to charge when her instincts, honed over years of fighting, screamed at her to stop.

That last-second intuition saved her life; if she had kept going the Sorcerer would have impaled her with his fist, which was surrounded by a blue glow. As it was, the glow exploded outwards, sending Shepard and Richter crashing into the walls of the stone chamber. Michael was able to withstand the blast, though he was still staggered.

"Mortal fools!" the Sorcerer bellowed. "You think to attack _me_!? I will tear apart your souls!"

"Not while Sigmar stands with me!" Michael swung his hammer in front of him, its glow leaving a bright afterimage. "I shall smite you in his name, witch!"

The Sorcerer sneered. "Your faith is misplaced, speck; I will show you the power of _true_ gods!"

Chanting words that hurt Shepard's ears, the Sorcerer shot forth bolts of evil magic that splashed around the chamber. Michael's bright aura shielded him, but Shepard and Richter had to scramble out of the way, only narrowly avoiding death. When the magic stopped, Shepard fired off a trio of shots; the Sorcerer stopped one bullet with his magic, and another missed entirely, but the third dug into his arm. Hissing, the Sorcerer stepped back, barely avoiding Richter's sword as it swung down. He then lashed out with his staff and caught Richter in the side, slamming him into the far wall. Faster than should have been possible, the Sorcerer then blocked Michael's hammer by catching it on the haft.

The Sorcerer then shoved Michael back with a grunt, but before he could advance or try to cast a spell, a rune-covered axe crashed into his side. He barely had time to turn and look at Shepard before she knocked her fist into the other side of the axe, driving it deeper into his side.

"How dare—" the Sorcerer never finished, because Michael's hammer swung down in a vicious arc that splattered his skull and brain across the chamber.

"Well, that was something," Shepard said as she pulled Unbak Urk from the Sorcerer's body. "Are all of these guys so chatty?"

Michael didn't answer; he was glaring at every profane symbol within the chamber like they offended him. In fact, Shepard realized, they probably did.

"General, I suggest we burn everything here," Michael said. "This place is evil."

Shepard nodded. Even with the Sorcerer dead, the cave still made her skin crawl. And besides, there was another thing that concerned her. "Do you guys remember what he was saying to the other guy? Someone is attacking knights."

"But who?" Richter asked. "The Ironrock Knights? The Golden Hammer? Or someone else entirely?"

"I think I know," Shepard said, dread pooling in her stomach. "The dead guy said that there was a chance for his buddies to attack us when we weren't prepared. The Ironrock Knights were holed up in their castle; the only ones in a position to roll right over us—"

"The Order of the Golden Hammer." Michael had gone pale. "I do not want to believe it. They were a Templar order, devoted to Sigmar; to fall so far…"

"We can figure out what happened later," Shepard said, already heading back out. "Right now, we have some knights to save."

…

"I call into question the actions of one Roderick Stein, Knight of Ironrock." Treckburg scowled as he read aloud from a scroll. "His deeds during the siege of Blutschnitter Castle were valorous, but he took the kill of a Vampire that had been claimed by Brother Gage, of the Order of the Golden Hammer. For that stain upon his honor, Brother Gage has requested that matters be settled in single combat."

Near Treckburg, a tall, muscular man glared daggers at the assembled Ironrock Knights. He was so large that his two-handed hammer seemed small in his hands.

Helschlitt frowned; he still had no recollection of such a deed being committed by one of his knights, but he had no reason to believe it was a falsehood. "The request has been heard. Roderick Stein, do you accept this challenge?"

The young knight in question—far smaller and more slender than his opponent—nodded. "I do, Grand Master."

Treckburg continued to scowl. "Both knights will make one pass at each other on horseback; both shall be armed with weapons of their choosing. Should the first bout fail to produce a victor, the knights shall continue on foot."

Both knights nodded, then mounted their horses. Gage had no lance or shield, choosing instead to use his hammer. Stein, on the other hand, had not only a lance and shield, but also the war-pick that most of his Order used hanging from his belt. The two knights moved their horses to opposite ends of the field that had been set up for this purpose.

Once the combatants had signaled their readiness, Treckburg raised his arm. "Begin!"

The knights drove their horses into a gallop, barreling down on the other. Observed from the side, it looked like they were about to crash, rather than pass. There was the sound of splintering wood and a cheer from the Golden Hammer Knights as Gage raised his hammer over his head. Stein's lance was reduced to a stump, but he was far from defeated; unless a knight was on his back or dead, the fight would continue. Still, Gage was untouched; losing his weapon was a little demoralizing.

After a few minutes of recovering and getting off of their horses, the knights prepared to fight again. Stein kept his shield between him and Gage, his war-pick held ready. The shield wouldn't do much good, though; with a warrior as strong as Gage holding a weapon as heavy as his hammer, the shield, and the arm behind it, would likely be shattered. Still, Stein was more nimble than his opponent, and his weapon was lighter; if he could avoid Gage's swings, if he could get in close, all he would need was one clean hit.

With a roar, Gage rushed in. Even though he was prepared, Stein only barely avoided the overhanded swing. He then darted in, swinging his war-pick at Gage's leg; the other knight shifted his hammer so that its haft deflected Stein's weapon. Before Stein could try again, Gage brought one fist crashing into his helmet in a vicious backhand that sent him stumbling back. Then the head of Gage's hammer collided with Stein's chest, denting the plate and sending him flying.

"I… I yield," Stein gasped out as Gage stood over him, hammer raised.

Gage hesitated, then glanced over at Treckburg. Across from the other Grand Master, Helschlitt frowned; killing the opponent during one of these duels wasn't unheard of, but it was generally frowned upon, since honor was usually satisfied before it reached that point. He hoped that Treckburg would restrain his knight.

To his confusion, Treckburg looked over at him with an expression of loathing. It was almost as if it was Helschlitt's knight was the one about to win, and not the other way around.

Then Treckburg said something that Helschlitt couldn't hear, but Gage clearly did; with a savage roar, he brought the hammer down on Stein's head, crushing helm and skull alike.

The Knights of Ironrock let out cries of outrage; the fight had been over, and honor had been satisfied. There had been no need for such a death. Helschlitt turned to demand an explanation from his counterpart, but what he saw next made him freeze. Even though there was some distance between them, he could clearly see the blood falling from Treckburg's eyes.

"Blood for the Blood God," Treckburg chanted, his voice growing louder. "Blood for the Blood God!"

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!" the other Golden Hammer knights bellowed.

Treckburg drew his own hammer, one that was far more ornate than the others of his order. "Kill them all!"

Helschlitt was already ordering his own knights into a semblance of order; the dry, clinical part of his mind was already assessing the strengths and weaknesses of both sides and planning accordingly. The rest of his mind, however, was occupied by a single thought.

 _We have been deceived…_

…

Shepard's army rushed back to Ironrock Keep as fast as they could go. They had even abandoned their supply wagons, leaving them to catch up when they could. Shepard was reminded of the trip to Middenheim; it seemed that Chaos always pushed the Empire the hardest.

As much as she knew it was irrational, a tiny part of Shepard blamed herself for not seeing that the Order of the Golden Hammer were traitors. Her instincts had told her that something was wrong, and she had dismissed it. Perhaps it was because she had fought alongside the Golden Hammer knights against the Vampires; she had even used one of their weapons at the end. Hell, she had celebrated with them after the battle! If anything, she would have thought that the more insular Ironrock Knights would be more suspicious.

In all her life, Shepard had only been betrayed once; Udina had been a bastard since the day she'd met him, though, so that hadn't weighed too heavily on her conscience. She didn't count the Illusive Man and Cerberus, since she had never trusted them to begin with, but she had never been betrayed by someone she trusted, and after the battle at Blutschnitter Castle, she had trusted the Order of the Golden Hammer. They had been easy to get along with; cheerful, but also honorable. She related to them, because they had been so much like her. Had they already betrayed the Empire back then, or had it been recent?

Regardless of the truth, Shepard knew that the Ironrock Knights needed help; they, at least, were innocent in this, and she would do all she could to help them.

"General!" Locke rode up to her as she led the infantry. "There is smoke rising from the direction of Ironrock Keep!"

 _Shit, are we too late?_ Shepard gritted her teeth, the expression hidden by her helmet. "Ride back to the rear units and tell them to engage as soon as they join up with us, but I want our artillery ready _now_. Have men carry the cannons on their backs if they have to, but I'm not attacking heavy cavalry without the big guns."

"Understood, General." Locke wheeled his horse around and galloped to the rear of the column to spread the word.

Thankfully, the army had only been a few hours away from Ironrock Keep when they began marching back, and they had been taking a more leisurely pace when leaving. Now that they were moving at a faster pace, Shepard estimated that they were now less than an hour away.

Shepard had faced heavy cavalry before, back at Helmgart. The armor of Bretonnian Knights less effective than that of their Imperial counterparts, but the tactics would still work, in theory. The bullets and artillery would, hopefully, do plenty of damage to the knights as they charged her formations, and the spears and halberds would do even more. If the knights could be bogged down, the rest of her infantry could quickly overwhelm them with numbers. Unless they were completely destroyed at range, fighting heavy cavalry almost always resulted in casualties, but it was a better option than letting the knights shatter the whole army on the charge.

No matter what happened, Shepard would always hate fighting cavalry. She wouldn't mind having some on _her_ side—though she'd die before getting a horse of her own—but her hatred of any enemy cavalry bordered on the irrational.

 _Well, I'm about to fight more cavalry than I did at Helmgart,_ she thought. _That means I'll have plenty of horses to kill. And Chaos-worshipping idiots, too! If I wasn't so pissed off, I'd even call this a good day!_

…

As a veteran of countless battles, Helschlitt knew when the tide was turning against him. As much as he hated to admit it, the tide of this battle was not only against him, his Order was drowning beneath it.

It was obvious that the Golden Hammer Knights were prepared for this attack; their horses had been nearby, and many were now mounted. In contrast, only a few of the Ironrock Knights were able to fight cavalry with cavalry; only Helschlitt and his Inner Circle, twenty in all—and five others were on Demigryphs, like him—had been able to reach their mounts. The rest had been forced to fight on foot. The only thing working in their favor was that they were able to keep the rear walls of Ironrock Keep to their backs, preventing the Golden Hammer from flanking them.

Smoke curled near Helschlitt, the smell making his Demigryph—a loyal beast of fifteen years that he named Mortis—squawk in displeasure. Helschlitt felt much the same way. Ironrock Keep had been his home for over half his life, and in the span of a single day, most of it was burning down. To deepen his shame, this tragedy had happened during his reign as Grand Master. It would take much to restore his honor.

Of course, first he and his knights had to survive this battle, and that was looking more and more unlikely. Already, over fifty of his knights were dead, while less than half that number of the enemy had fallen.

"Grand Master!" a knight, this one on foot, ran up to him; Helschlitt felt a little satisfaction to see that the man's war-pick was bloodied. "The traitors are pulling back! They look to be massing for another charge!"

Helschlitt was inclined to agree, until he heard a loud boom from outside. That kind of noise could only come from one thing, and he was positive that the enemy knights didn't have cannons on their side.

 _Perhaps,_ he mused, _fate hasn't abandoned us yet._

"We have an opportunity!" he shouted, gaining the attention of his knights. "Head to the stables! I want as many of you mounted and ready to charge as soon as possible! If we are to die, we will die as true Knights of the Empire!"

…

"I hate being right," Shepard muttered darkly. "I mean, just once, could something horrible _not_ happen!?"

"Our mettle is only tested in trying times, General." Despite his words, Michael looked grimmer than usual.

"First Middenheim, then Karak Eight Peaks." Shepard shook her head. _Not to mention all the things I had to go through back home._ "I think my mettle has been tested enough."

"If you truly believe that, General, then you would not be here."

Even with her wolf-helm on, very few people could withstand Shepard's glare, but Michael bore it impassively. Since that didn't work, Shepard cast her gaze over the massing enemy knights. By her count, there were at least three hundred, and most of them were mounted. Thankfully, Shepard's army was situated on and around a small group of hills, giving them the high ground. Even better, the artillery and Handgunners were ready for action.

Shepard waved over all of her officers, including Richter's Greatswords. "Signal the men to fire on my command," she told the standard bearer. "We need to make the first volley count."

The man nodded and waved his banner to catch the attention of the others. In a few moments, the word had spread.

"Locke, I want you and your men to circle around after the knights have charged," Shepard continued. "Once they're at a full gallop, it'll be harder for them to break off and counter you. Just be sure to stay out of their reach."

"Of course, General." Even the normally cheerful Locke was angry. "We will show these curs how true sons of the Empire fight!"

"Michael, I want you and your men with me and Richter." Shepard nodded at the Sergeant, who smiled grimly. "Between the two of us, I don't see a problem for the front line holding."

As much as she hated to admit it, Shepard knew she was an inspirational leader. She rarely took advantage of that, but if it meant that her army would stand its ground in the face of a massive attack by heavy cavalry, she'd use any advantage she had. Between her reputation and Michael's fiery rhetoric, the soldiers would fight like heroes.

"Very well, General." Michael unslung his hammer. "I shall meet you at the front."

"Parral, have you organized the other Jades?" Shepard grimaced. "Even if everything goes according to plan, we're going to have casualties."

"I have spread them out as best I can," Parral said. "I believe that I will need to petition my Patriarch for more of my peers to join us once this is over. We're spread too thin."

Shepard sighed, knowing that Parral was right. Even though the Jade Wizards were indispensable, there were still far more soldiers than they could heal without pushing themselves too far. She needed to make some time in her schedule to improve the Empire's non-magical medical practices; she heard that some doctors still used _leeches_!

"And I will do what I can as well," Gettmann added.

"Anything would be useful," Shepard said. "Now let's go. We have a battle to win."

Shepard and Richter's men made their way to the front of the army, situating themselves between Michael's Swordsmen and a regiment of Halberdiers. Above them, ranks of Handgunners steadied their guns; Shepard felt a bit of pride run through her as she saw crews of Heavy Repeaters smoothly load the weapons she'd created.

"The knights are charging," Richter murmured, just loud enough for Shepard to hear.

He was right; across the field, just in front of Ironrock Keep, the Order of the Golden Hammer was reorganized and beginning their charge. All of them were armed with large hammers, which they swung over their heads as they screamed wildly. They were a far cry from the noble warriors Shepard had seen before; the only reminder of their honorable past was their beautiful armor.

After a few seconds, Shepard gauged the distance to be correct. She nodded to the Greatswords' standard bearer.

"Fire!"

The man made the necessary signals. A moment later, Great Cannons and Helblaster Volley Guns boomed, followed by the sharp cracks of rifles and Heavy Repeaters. The artillery ripped holes in the knights' formation, killing dozens. They heavy armor they wore saved the lives of many from the bullets, but there were still plenty of injuries and at least a score more deaths.

Even with the devastating barrage, there were still over two hundred knights barreling down on them. Despite their weight, the cavalry was remarkably fast; Shepard knew that her artillery wouldn't be able to get off another volley in time. The Handgunners would have to do what they could on their own.

Thankfully, there was a little more help before things got messy. Locke and his light cavalry burst out from behind a hill and opened fire on the knights' left flank. Some of the knights were killed, but, more importantly, many more had been disrupted, and their attacks would be less damaging.

The Handgunners got off one more volley, though their Heavy Repeaters had been firing almost constantly, barring a few seconds to load in more ammunition. More knights at the front died, and some horses tripped over those that had fallen, but Shepard's army still had to collectively brace itself as the knights hit their line.

Shepard swung Unbak Urk just before the first knight reached her. The ancient weapon carved upwards, through the horse's neck and into the rider's chest. She stepped out of the way of the corpse as it rolled past, then swung again, this time cutting the left legs out from under another horse. The knight was pinned beneath the screaming beast, and died to a Greatsword who plunged his blade into his throat.

Some knights were impaled upon spears and halberds, but other kept going, the riders smashing apart any who weren't trampled. Once the charge ended, the knights fought with even greater fury, but now they were swarmed by vengeful soldiers. The heavy armor of the knights protected them from many blows, but some soldiers went after weak points in the armor, or targeted the more vulnerable horse first, bringing down the rider for others to kill. Even though the latter tactic was effective, it wasn't without cost. For every knight that was brought down, at least two of Shepard's men died.

The Handgunners continued to pour shots into the knights' back ranks, but it wouldn't be long before some of the cavalry broke through the front lines and hit the more vulnerable ranged units. If that happened, Shepard's melee fighters would lose their support, and it wouldn't be long after that that the army would be broken in half.

Shepard knew this, and fought even harder, becoming a maelstrom of death; anything touched by Unbak Urk's blade died, to the point that even the bloodthirsty knights were trying to avoid her. That didn't make them safe, since Shepard was just as willing to shoot them as dismember them. Any soldier who fought near her pushed himself even harder, unwilling to give anything less than their all. The Greatswords were particularly ferocious; Shepard saw Richter, along with two others, carve apart a knight like a turkey.

Even after her best efforts, even when Locke's cavalry began peppering the knights from behind, Shepard knew that the battle was going against them. It was only a matter of time before she would have to call a retreat, or else—

"Charge, men! For the Empire!"

Had Shepard not been in the process of removing a knight's upper half from his lower half, she would have blinked in surprise. Coming up from behind the Order of the Golden Hammer were the Knights of Ironrock. Their armor was stained with smoke and blood, and their heraldry was marred, but to Shepard, their charge was one of the most glorious things she'd ever seen.

Fueled by righteous vengeance, the Ironrock Knights slammed into the Golden Hammer's back ranks, piercing man and beast alike with lances, and when the lances shattered or were knocked out of their hands, they switched to their war-picks. Leading the charge was Grand Master Helschlitt; as powerful a warrior as he was, even his best efforts were overshadowed by his Demigryph, which slashed apart four knights in as many seconds, along with their horses.

A small part of Shepard was very happy about that.

Between the reinvigorated infantry and the vengeful cavalry, the Order of the Golden Hammer had had enough. They wheeled their horses around and broke past the two forces before they were encircled and headed west.

Shepard allowed her Handgunners to fire one last volley at the retreating knights before signaling for the army to halt. As soon as the order was given, many soldiers practically collapsed, mostly from nerves; it wasn't often that any force was faced with hundreds of armored knights arrayed against them. Shepard didn't even think about pursuing the Golden Hammer; she didn't know the exact number, but by her estimate, she had lost nearly five hundred men, and at least another two hundred were wounded. Her troops needed at least a day to rest, and to mourn lost friends.

"I see you do not intend to follow those bastards." Shepard looked up to see Helschlitt approaching her, still riding on his Demigryph. "You are wiser than many officers I have met."

Shepard noticed Richter hovering nearby; she gave him the slightest of nods, telling him that it was all right, then turned back to Helschlitt. "Considering how hard they were fighting, I don't see the Golden Hammer getting very far."

"Something that I am thankful for." Helschlitt's expression promised retribution. "My Order has a matter to be settled."

"Do you know where they would go?" Shepard asked.

"The most likely place would be their keep. It isn't too far from here, a two-day journey on foot."

Shepard nodded, then removed her helm to wipe the sweat off her brow. "Then that's where we're going next."

"Were you not hunting an artifact of some kind?"

"We knew the shard we were after was connected to some Chaos-worshippers." Shepard shrugged. "And now we know where some Chaos-worshippers are going. It's the first lead we've found since coming here."

Helschlitt smiled grimly and dismounted; as soon as he did, the Demigryph curled up and began picking flecks of meat from between its paws.

"Then the Knights of Ironrock shall accompany you." He offered his hand to Shepard. "You have our service, so long as you want them."

Shepard blinked in surprise; she knew that Knightly Orders were reluctant to put themselves under the command of others, even for short periods of time, so this offer was unexpected, to say the least.

"Are you sure about this?" She asked.

Helschlitt glanced over his shoulder at the burning Ironrock Keep. "Our keep is destroyed, and we would have died with it, had you not intervened. We owe you at least this battle, General Shepard. When it is over, perhaps we can discuss a more permanent alliance."

With that said, Shepard shook Helschlitt's hand, both gripping the other's wrist in a warrior fashion. She couldn't really refuse the offer; more than a quarter of her army was out of commission, and even if only half of the Ironrock Knights were able to fight, a force of a hundred heavy cavalry was nothing to sneeze at.

"Get some rest," she advised. "We're all going to need it."

…

"Grand Master, he is here."

Treckburg nearly threw his hammer at the knight, but resisted the urge. "Send him in," he growled.

The attack had been a disaster; there was no other word to describe this failure. The Ironrock Knights had been more stubborn than Treckburg had expected, and had held out long enough for that woman, Shepard, to arrive with her army. Instead of crushing the insipid Ironrock Knights, it had been the Order of the Golden Hammer, now numbering barely more than a hundred strong, that had turned tail and ran, all the way back to their keep.

Now, the knights were licking their wounds. Some of them literally were, their secret devotion to Khorne and the obsession with blood coming out all at once. Treckburg himself was only barely able to keep his rage and bloodlust under control, and a small part of him wondered if it was already too late. He ruthlessly crushed those thoughts; the only way to claim what was rightfully his Order's—and what was rightfully _his_ —was through the power offered by the Blood God.

"You should have listened to my disciple, fool." Treckburg glared hatefully at Terath'orr as he stalked into the chamber. "Now the Empire will soon know of your treachery; if General Shepard's army is not at your doorstep, then it will be another Imperial force."

"Quiet, witch," Treckburg snarled. "It was your machinations that brought us to this point; your magic was supposed to keep the Imperials away from us until we were done with the Ironrock bastards!"

"I will admit, one of their Wizards was able to partially see past my illusions and guided the Imperials to the right path." Terath'orr shrugged, like he didn't care. "Regardless, my goals were achieved, even if _you_ failed."

With a roar, Treckburg swept up his hammer and leapt at the Sorcerer, only to be suspended in the air, helpless, by his foul magic.

"Despite your attempted betrayal, I am not upset," Terath'orr said casually. "In fact, I am willing to aid you further."

Treckburg gritted his teeth in frustration, but stopped struggling. "Explain."

Terath'orr lowered him to the ground. "The artifact that I recovered has been empowered by the blood spilled today. I can use it to open a path to the Realm of Chaos, and summon Daemons to fight alongside us. Since no single force was completely destroyed, the Gods are not completely satisfied, but I believe that the slaughter of today will be enough to buy the services of some Daemons."

Treckburg stared at the Sorcerer with wide eyes. A few years ago, he would have been repulsed by the idea of even being in the vicinity of Daemons, but now, he was excited. Daemons were a sign of the Gods' favor, and enough of them might just turn today's defeat into tomorrow's victory.

"Can you do it soon?" He asked. "The Imperials will be here as early as tomorrow."

"Give me a room and whatever I require to complete the rituals," Terath'orr said. "If you do that, I promise that our enemies will fall before us."

Terath'orr pulled a golden ring from a bag at his side. It still shined with pure light, but now it was laced with purple sparks.

 _And this is only when a fraction of the artifact's power is corrupted,_ he thought, barely able to keep a smile off his face. _If I can fully master it… the power would be that of the Gods themselves!_

 **Okay, I'm done with this sucker! Not gonna lie, this chapter was a bitch to write. I was stuck about a thousand words in for almost three weeks. Finally, I just sat down about three days ago and said to myself, "All right, Self, here's what's going to happen: I'm going to write this freaking chapter, and you're gonna help me. Got it?" Surprisingly, no one answered (I guess I'm not as crazy as I thought I was), but I was able to get this chapter done in nearly record time. Awesome!**

 **So… yeah, heavy cavalry is tough. Like, super-crazy tough. Imperial Knightly Orders are the heavy tanks of Warhammer Fantasy. What does that make Steam Tanks, I wonder? Still, pump enough bullets (or any artillery, really) into them, and the horse-riding twits go down real nice. However, when going up against** _ **hundreds**_ **of heavy cavalry, not even Shepard's army could take them all down in time. If the Ironrock Knights hadn't been a part of this story, I honestly would have had Shepard retreat. Yes, you read that right. Shepard would have run away. It's one thing to fight a dozen or so Bretonnian Knights (the Empire versions have better armor and have more staying power; plus, Demigryphs, one of my favorite things in all of Warhammer), it's another to take on an entire** _ **army**_ **of insane bastards.**

 **By the way: Yes, the Ironrock Knights are going to sign up with Shepard, just not in this chapter. Soon, though. Shepard needs some heavy cavalry of her own, and now that the Ironrock Knights' house has burned down, they need a place to crash. Nuln is nice, so…**

 **You might be wondering why the Order of the Golden Hammer turned to Chaos. I'm sure none of you were surprised by the development, but you're probably still wondering why. Don't worry, that'll be explained in the next chapter.**

 **And though it's been a while since I've read the Chaos-related spells that Chaos Sorcerers can use in Fantasy, I don't think they can turn people into Spawn. I know that 40K Sorcerers can, so I figured, why the hell not? Either way, Terath'orr is the one to watch out for, not his pansy student.**

 **Next Chapter: Shepard sets out to recover the shard, but even with the help of the Ironrock Knights, those pesky Daemons are going to be a problem.**

 **Never challenge the Muffin of Ways.**


	19. Lost Honor, Part 3

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. I SHOULD MENTION THAT MY OC'S BELONG TO ME, AND DAEMONS WILL DEVOUR THE SOULS OF THOSE WHO TRY TO TAKE THEM.**

 **I'm not going to lie, I hate Daemons. They're creepy. I almost didn't want to bring them into this story, but needs must, and the Chaos Gods provide. That doesn't mean I'll bring them in again any time soon.**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 19

Lost Honor, Part 3

" _You want to know what happened to the Order of the Golden Hammer? Do you also want a Witch Hunter to burn you at the stake? No? Okay, then I'll only tell you this: It was one of the few times I ever pitied an enemy."—General Alexia Shepard, speaking to a bard_

…

"This was all we can muster, General." Richter frowned at the thin ranks of Stirland soldiers that joined the column. "Only two hundred men from Wurtbad. I had expected more."

"Well, we only gave them six hours," Shepard said. "And our exact words were 'help us fight Chaos'. Not a lot of people want to mess with that kind of crap." Richter grumbled wordlessly. "Come on, don't complain, we need all the help we can get."

Richter knew Shepard was right. After the battle at Ironrock Keep, Shepard's army had barely more than twelve hundred men that were able to fight. Hundreds had died in the fighting, and others were too wounded. The army had taken a brief detour to Wurtbad, where they had dropped off their wounded and requested both supplies and reinforcements. Shepard's rising fame had served them well there; the city had generously donated extra weapons, ammunition, and other goods, though soldiers willing to fight Chaos were scarce.

At least the Ironrock Knights were more enthusiastic. Though nearly fifty of them were too wounded to continue, that still left a hundred heavily-armored knights that hungered for vengeance. Combined with almost twice that number of Locke's light cavalry, Shepard had quite the mobile force to add to her army, which now numbered around fifteen hundred.

"Now that the wounded are situated and everyone else is ready, how long until we reach the Golden Hammer's keep?" Richter asked.

"About two days, if we keep to a decent pace," Shepard said. "I'll be working with the artillery to bring down the walls, so I want you to organize the infantry."

"You can count on me, General." Richter then frowned. "Wait, what about the cavalry?"

"Helschlitt has more experience commanding cavalry than Locke and I do combined," Shepard said. "I've put him in command of that front."

Richter had some misgivings about that. No one in Shepard's army, Shepard included, had even met Helschlitt before the battle, and now he would be commanding a substantial part of the army. The only reason Richter didn't raise any objections during the staff meeting an hour later was because when Helschlitt received his position, he had fallen to one knee in front of Shepard. The fact that a Grand Master of a Knightly Order, and a noble, had bowed before someone of lesser social standing than himself spoke volumes about his respect for Shepard. So long as Helschlitt remained loyal, Richter was willing to give the man a chance.

Even if it was only to himself, Richter admitted that his faith in knights had been shaken by recent events. To him, a common-born man, knights were supposed to be heroes, shining examples of the Empire's greatest champions. To see an entire Order of such men fall to the temptations of Chaos was unsettling, to say the least.

"You look distracted, my friend." Richter glanced up at Locke; the man had ridden his horse alongside the marching infantry. "That isn't good for the General's bodyguard."

Richter shrugged tiredly. "The General reminds me almost every day that she doesn't need a bodyguard."

Locke only laughed. "That just means you'll have to work harder to prove her wrong! General Shepard may be incredible, but she is still Human; she isn't invincible, if Middenheim was any indication."

"Maybe, but then she managed to survive Karak Eight Peaks with barely any help at all."

"Hmm… you have a point." Locke frowned. "Still, as she is so fond of reminding us, she does not want people to think so highly of her. Perhaps if she appeared to at least need someone to watch her back, others wouldn't put such responsibilities on her shoulders."

Richter had to give him that one. Shepard's primary duty was to retrieve the shards, a mission given to her by the Emperor himself. Though there seemed to be a trend of long periods of time between each of those quests, Shepard kept herself busy by constantly working on her inventions, improving existing technology within the Empire, and also dealing with the paperwork necessary to running an army.

And then she had gone and had a child; most women would consider being a mother to be a full-time job, but Shepard seemed to use David as motivation for working even harder. Richter had to sigh; Shepard's own achievements seemed to fuel her drive to do more.

"I think it's too late for that," Richter said wearily.

Locke laughed again, but there was less humor in it. "You're probably right. I think the only thing we can do is help her as best we can. The more we do for her, the less she has to worry about."

Richter nodded. Perhaps that was why Shepard had been so willing to leave the organization and day-to-day operations of the army to her officers. Maybe, subconsciously, she knew her own limits and relied on her friends to keep her from sinking under the weight of it all.

Maybe it was all in his head, but the idea that Shepard trusted him—trusted all of them—so much helped raise Richter's flagging spirit.

"Let's go kill those Chaos dogs and get that shard," he said, loud enough for some of the nearby men to hear him as well. "The General is counting on us!"

…

Once, Hammerstrike Keep was a bastion of light, exemplifying both the nobility of the knights that called it home and their faith in Sigmar. Its walls were tall and thick, and the gates were made of oak and banded with steel. All four towers were decorated with symbols of Sigmar, as were the many buildings behind the walls.

But that was in the past. The light was gone, shrouded by clouds that rained blood upon the traitors within. Every picture or carving of a hammer or twin-tailed comet was torn down or scratched out, replaced by eight-pointed stars or symbols of Khorne and Tzeentch.

The Order of the Golden Hammer barely retained any of their nobility now. Exposed to the raw powers of Chaos and the Daemons of Khorne, they had changed, both inside and out. Their armor was red with the blood of sacrificed servants; some of them were already starting to mutate, with horns and fangs beginning to sprout. Even the horses were changing; where once they would have panicked at the sheer wrongness of the Daemons, they simply ignored them, while others were feasting on corpses instead of hay.

From his position near the central structure of the keep, Terath'orr watched the knights perform yet another bloodletting ritual, to the approving roars of Daemons. He sneered; they might have made those sacrifices in the name of the Blood God, but he was still able to draw some of that power into the artifact.

"What are you doing, Sorcerer?" Terath'orr glanced behind him and saw Treckburg stomping into the room. "You promised a force of Daemons that would wipe away our enemies, but there are barely a thousand fighters here, including my men!"

Terath'orr resisted the urge to wince. During the first ritual to summon Daemons, he had let the artifact's power go to his head; he had declared to the knights that they would all crush the Empire at the head of an army of Daemons. After he had come to his senses, he realized that that would be impossible. Even though the artifact itself could potentially do such a thing, there were only so many pacts Terath'orr could make, and the energy to keep the Daemons on the physical plane was immense. It was a shame that his only apprentice had died; if he had more Sorcerers at hand, more complex rituals could be performed, bringing forth Daemons of greater power and number.

Perhaps, he mused, when the Chaos forces took a chunk out of the Empire, several Wizards could be 'persuaded' to join their cause. They would serve under him, of course, but if Terath'orr had enough control over the artifact, he wouldn't need Treckburg and his knights any longer.

"Summoning Daemons requires much effort," Terath'orr said. "My powers are considerable, but even I cannot create an army overnight."

Treckburg snarled, his hands opening and closing, as if he was imagining them around Terath'orr's throat.

Terath'orr had to wonder if encouraging Treckburg and his knights to follow the path of Khorne was a good thing. True, it made them formidable warriors, and as long as Terath'orr delivered on his promise of fighting, they were loyal, but perhaps he should have enticed them into Tzeentch's eternal game. They could have become rivals in the future, but Terath'orr preferred watching his back to the headaches that Khorne's blood-drenched followers gave him.

Treckburg in particular was becoming a mighty champion of the Blood God. Thick spikes had emerged from his shoulders, actually merging with his armor, the joints of which constantly wept blood that was absorbed by the connecting plates. His hammer had also changed, the head taking on the shape of a snarling beast and glowed with infernal power. Terath'orr wasn't sure if these sudden changes were due to the power unleashed by the artifact, or if the Golden Hammer was just particularly blessed by Khorne.

With a sweep of his cloak, Terath'orr headed deeper into the keep. "Just keep your warriors prepared. Because of your failure with the Ironrock Knights, the Empire may likely be on their way."

Terath'orr smiled when the sound of Treckburg's growls reached him; pushing the warrior's buttons might not have been the wisest thing to do, but they both knew that, without Terath'orr, the Order of the Golden Hammer would be without Daemonic aid and quickly hunted down.

Once he had reached the keep's tallest tower, he carefully observed the artifact as it hovered in the center of a series of magical fields that Terath'orr had created to corrupt and amplify its power. Surprisingly, the ring was _fighting_ the corruption; in fact, whenever Terath'orr wasn't there to oversee the process, it had actually purified itself a little.

"You won't keep your power from me forever," he said softly. "No matter how strongly you fight against it, all things serve Chaos in the end…"

…

"It looks like they've redecorated," Shepard remarked as the army came into view of the keep. She kept her tone light to disguise how unnerving the fortress looked.

"It is blasphemous," Michael snarled. "That abomination and everything within its walls must be purified."

"I would be happy to send a missive to the College of Light," Parral said. "Between their powers and that of enough priests, I am certain that this blight will be erased from the land."

Shepard noticed that Helschlitt had gone pale, even if his eyes were narrowed in hate. "Is there a problem?" she asked quietly.

Helschlitt sighed. "Yes and no, General. To say that it troubles me to see a fellow Knightly Order fall so far is an understatement. At the same time, I am glad that it was not _my_ Order that was corrupted."

"Yeah, I get it." Shepard eyed him carefully. "Look, I know you want revenge, but—"

Helschlitt shook his head. "General, all I ask is that my knights engage the traitors. We both know that heavy cavalry will do much damage to the men on foot. If the guns bring down enough of the enemy knights, my brothers and I will finish them off."

Shepard's helm was off, and though the wolf-visage was intimidating, her own narrowed eyes nearly made the Grand Master take a step back.

"So long as you don't go off on your own. Remember, you promised to follow my orders." She smiled wryly. "I spent quite a lot of time with Dwarfs. I take oaths very seriously."

Helschlitt nodded. "I understand, General."

"Good." Shepard glanced at the flat ground around the keep. "Once the knights are out of the picture, try to swing around and catch any infantry from behind. Lieutenant Locke and his men will cover your advance."

"He is a good man." Helschlitt nodded at the gathered officers, who were talking quietly amongst themselves. "All of them are."

Shepard smiled. "I know. I'm lucky to have them."

"And they are fortunate to be led by you." Before Shepard could comment, Helschlitt was already moving away. "I had best get my men ready for battle. May the gods favor you, General."

"Yeah, thanks." Shepard wasn't sure how to address Helschlitt's first comment; after all, if she hadn't come to this world, her men wouldn't have been dragged all over the place, only to get killed.

Shepard put aside those thoughts for later; right now, she had a siege to commence. While Richter prepared the infantry to defend against sallies from the keep, and Helschlitt and Locke worked out charge lanes and tactics for the heavy and light cavalry, Shepard went over to the batteries of artillery.

"You boys ready?" Shepard asked the crews.

One of the men stepped forward. "If it means raining hell on those traitorous bastards, we certainly are, General!"

The rest of the men crewing the Great Cannons, Helblasters, and the handful of Mortars from Wurtbad, all cheered. Shepard quickly worked out the angles of each gun, as well as where to attack. Once that was done and the orders were given, Shepard stepped back and nodded to the gunners.

"Fire."

…

To most, the sound of artillery opening up on their position was terrifying, a harbinger of death and destruction to anything in the enemy's sights. For Treckburg, his knights, and many of their Daemon allies, it was a sound to rejoice to.

At last, there was a battle to be had!

Of course, the followers of Khorne were faced with the dilemma of having stone walls between them and the foe. That was easily solved by heading for the gate; knights raised their weapons in salute to Khorne, while the Bloodletters—hunched, red-skinned Daemons with twisting horns and fiery blades held in their claws—howled madly.

"Open the gate!" Treckburg commanded; the keep, now charged with the energies of Chaos, responded to his words, despite not having anyone actually there to open the gate.

Just as the gate began to rumble open, Treckburg noticed that some of the Pink Horrors, Daemons of Tzeentch that constantly changed their appearance, though all had the same color, had formed up behind the followers of Khorne.

 _So the Sorcerer decided to send some of his servants to us,_ Treckburg thought. _As long as they don't get in the way of the slaughter, they are welcome to join us._

As the gate finally opened, Treckburg pointed his hammer at the open gateway. "Blood for the Blood God!" he roared. "Skulls for the Skull Throne!"

The knights and Daemons charged forward, only to receive a barrage of small cannonballs before they even cleared the keep. In the confines of the archway, dozens of knights were torn apart, and a score of Bloodletters were sent screaming back to the Realm of Chaos.

"Cowards!" Treckburg shouted at the distant Imperial force. "Step away from your guns and fight us like true warriors!"

To his pleasant surprise, it appeared that some of the Imperials were answering his challenge. A hundred heavily-armored knights were galloping towards him, and nearly the same number of lighter cavalry was right behind them.

Treckburg didn't care about the lesser warriors in the rear; all that mattered was that it was the Ironrock Knights who were leading the charge. Today was the day that the Order of the Golden Hammer would finally have their revenge!

Like most of his knights, Treckburg had joined the Golden Hammer believing that the Ironrock Knights were friendly rivals, good competition that would hone their skills. It was only when Terath'orr came to them and revealed the truth that rivalry turned into hatred.

Long ago, back when both Orders were founded, the first Grand Masters had been brothers, both by blood and by arms. That much was consistent with the story told by knights to Treckburg's generation. What _wasn't_ told, however—and Terath'orr had provided proof in the form of documents signed by founding members of the Order of the Golden Hammer—was that the Ironrock Grand Master had let his brother die to an enemy blade, while he went on to take the head of the enemy leader and present it to the Emperor of the time. Had he stayed behind and dealt with the foes surrounding his brother, it would have been the Order of the Golden Hammer that would have carried the day, not their treacherous brethren!

Terath'orr explained that there were many other slights against the Golden Hammer over the years, committed by the Ironrock Knights, or, Terath'orr suspected, agents under their command. Ambushes that had resulted in dead senior knights, glorious victory marred by the Ironrock Knights killing the more important foes, and other offenses that needed to be addressed.

Some of the older knights had objected to this. They had even tried to kill Terath'orr and any who would have believed his words. But Treckburg, who had become a member of the Inner Circle at a young age, led the majority of the knights in a coup that ended with him crushing the skull of Weitzman, the previous Grand Master and taking the position for himself. With no one left to oppose them or offer words of caution, the Order of the Golden Hammer had embraced their simmering rage, offering their souls to Khorne in exchange for power and vengeance.

It was that need for vengeance, to spill the blood of the betrayers and offer it to Khorne, that fueled the Golden Hammer knights now. Gone was their nobility of spirit, replaced only with a desire to kill and destroy.

Howling like the Daemons behind them, the knights urged their mounts into a full-on charge. Many of them whirled their hammers overhead, building up momentum for a devastating blow. Others roared oaths, swearing to claim a particular knight's head.

For their part, the Imperials did not waver. Pistoliers and Outriders rained shots through gaps in the Ironrock Knights' line, picking off a few enemy knights with every volley. Further back, Helblaster Volley Guns struck the flanks, catching more of the Golden Hammer.

With their hated enemies so close, the Order of the Golden Hammer made its most fatal mistake. Until then, they had kept themselves fairly unified and organized. Now, with blood spilled and none of it of the foe, the knights went into a berserk frenzy; they lost all cohesion and went off in different directions. Only Treckburg and his Inner Circle remained united; the rest charged, alone or in twos and threes, into organized and battle-hardened units of Ironrock Knights.

The lances, with their longer reach, struck first, pitching berserkers from their saddles; since so many groups of Golden Hammer knights were outnumbered, their enemies finished off their mutated horses with the lances that weren't used on riders. Some of the Golden Hammer knights, those who could keep some semblance of tactics, were able to smash aside lances and strike with their hammers. While this did kill some of the Ironrock Knights, the rest avenged their fallen with precise blows of their war-picks.

Perhaps the Order of the Golden Hammer would have prevailed, despite their disorganization, had the two Knightly Orders been fighting alone. Blessed by Khorne, the Chaos-aligned knights were stronger than any one of their Imperial counterparts. However, once the two Orders had crashed together, the Pistoliers and Outriders broke apart and rode around the Golden Hammer's flanks, firing a withering barrage into every enemy they could see.

To make things worse, it was clear that the Imperials were utilizing Wizards; healing magic was helping the Ironrock Knights get back on their feet, and though some were beyond saving, many were able to return to the fighting.

This only incensed Treckburg further. The Order of the Golden Hammer had always been leery of Wizards; since aligning with Khorne, that mistrust had morphed into outright hatred. He only tolerated Terath'orr because he had revealed the truth of things to him, and because he needed the Sorcerer to bring forth more Daemons. He had no such reservations with the Ironrock Knights; that they would associate with Wizards only added to the list of grievances Treckburg had against them.

"Helschlitt!" he bellowed. "Face me, you coward! I will crush your skull myself!"

As if Khorne himself had heard him, a gap in both lines appeared; Treckburg grinned behind his helmet as he saw Helschlitt, urging his Demigryph away from the corpse of a Golden Hammer knight. He then turned and tensed, obviously seeing Treckburg. The Grand Masters paused for only a moment, then drove their mounts into a charge, weapons raised.

Treckburg had the longer reach, but only against Helschlitt; the Demigryph, Mortis, drove his beak into Treckburg's horse before he could swing his hammer. Screaming in pain, the horse bucked, throwing its rider to the ground. Fortunately for Treckburg, he rolled with the landing, then got up in time to deflect Helschlitt's war-pick with his hammer's haft. With a roar, he swung his weapon into Helschlitt's leg, crushing plate and bone. Enraged at the wound inflicted upon his master, Mortis reared up and raked his claws across Treckburg's chest, tearing through his armor and gouging flesh.

"Traitor!" Ignoring his pain, Treckburg looked up at Helschlitt's words. "You defile the Empire with your existence, the very Empire you should have been happy to die for! Damn you for taking your Order down this path!"

Amazingly, despite his grievous injury, Helschlitt was just as fierce as a man half his age. His war-pick smashed into Treckburg's left arm, nearly severing it. Without both arms, Treckburg could not effectively use his hammer, but he didn't care. Howling with rage, he threw himself at his mounted adversary, intent on taking his hated rival with him.

Helschlitt, however, had other plans; he wheeled his Demigryph around, then slammed his shield into Treckburg's head. Unbalanced, Treckburg could only watch as Helschlitt brought his war-pick down on his head.

As the weapon fell, time seemed to slow. In the background, Treckburg could see a wave of infantry charge into his knights' flank, while the other flank was swarmed by the light cavalry. As fierce as the Golden Hammer was, Treckburg was sane enough to know that they were doomed.

Khorne did not care from whom the blood flowed, Treckburg knew, only that it did. That didn't mean that his followers had to be so callous. In his last moments, Treckburg reflected that his campaign of vengeance had been one of blind rage. Perhaps he should have controlled his temper. Perhaps he should have worked out a better strategy.

Perhaps, a small part of him realized, he should never have turned to Chaos in the first place.

Then the war-pick landed. Treckburg's body collapsed, while his soul was carried to the Realm of Chaos, to be the plaything of Daemons for all eternity.

…

"That's it, boys!" Shepard leapt over a fallen Golden Hammer knight and brought Unbak Urk down on a gibbering Daemon. "Keep pushing forward!"

The plan had worked better than Shepard had imagined. The mere presence of their enemies had driven the blood-worshippers into a berserk frenzy; those that had survived the kill-zone made by the Handgunners and artillery had been thoroughly stopped by the Ironrock Knights and Lock's light cavalry. Still, Shepard hadn't been about to let the scores of Daemons that had fallen behind outflank her cavalry, and had led the infantry forward in a daring countercharge. Half of the men had turned to help finish off the Order of the Golden Hammer, while the rest had rushed the Daemons.

The pink, flailing monsters had been more trouble than Shepard had first thought. Many of them threw handfuls of multicolored flame that burned men to ash or left them screaming on the ground, and they were tougher than they looked. Even when they _did_ die, they simply split apart into two smaller, blue Daemons. These ones were not as jolly; in fact, they were downright morbid as they tore apart men with their claws. The only bright side was that once the Blue Horrors were weaker than their pink counterparts, and when they were destroyed, nothing else came back.

The other kinds of Daemons, the red ones with horns and unnerving molten swords, were a little easier to deal with. True, they could split a man in half with little effort, but they had no concept of defense or cooperation; Shepard's organized troops were able to put them down with a few well-placed blows.

"Look out!" Thanks to her wolf-helm, Shepard already knew that the Bloodletter was charging her from the side, but before she turned to confront it, Richter's sword had already removed the Daemon's hands at the wrists. Another quick slash, and the Bloodletter lost its head before dissolving into dust.

"Thanks for the assist," Shepard said, nodding at her friend.

"It's why I'm here, General." Richter looked around. "There aren't many Daemons left."

"You're right." Shepard frowned. "Spread the word: anyone not fighting needs to form up and be ready to push into the keep."

Richter dutifully obeyed, and in a few minutes, the troops that weren't destroying the last of the Daemons were reorganizing themselves. It wasn't long after that that Shepard personally killed the last Bloodletter, Unbak Urk cleaving it down the middle.

"General Shepard, what would you have us do?" Shepard didn't need enhanced senses to know that Helschlitt was tired, exhausted even.

"What _you_ need to do," Shepard said, "is take a break. You sound like sh—what the _fuck_ happened to your leg!?"

Even Helschlitt's Demigryph was giving the man a disapproving look; the Grand Master's leg was barely moving, and blood was flowing sluggishly from the joints. The metal was bent and twisted, and Shepard didn't even want to imagine what the leg itself looked like.

"It happened during my battle with Treckburg, the swine," Helschlitt admitted. "But I am still able to fight!"

Shepard didn't believe him for a second. Even with his coif concealing much of his head, Helschlitt's pale face suggested too much blood lost.

"Go to Parral. You've done enough." Helschlitt opened his mouth to argue, but Shepard held up one hand. "Go. Get. Healed. That's an order."

Helschlitt sighed. "Very well, General. I will also take anyone who is injured back to the Jade Wizards."

"Thank you." Before Helschlitt could ride away, Shepard gently grabbed his wrist. "And thank you for everything, Gregor. Without your knights, I would have lost a lot of men."

"I am sure you would have succeeded without me or my knights," Helschlitt—though it would now always be Gregor in Shepard's mind—said modestly.

"Probably," Shepard said with a cocky smirk, "but I'd feel a lot worse after it was all over." Once she saw Gregor's mouth curl upwards, she patted the Demigryph's flank. "Now get going. I'll hit the bad guy an extra couple of times for you."

After the wounded had been taken to back ranks with the artillery, Shepard cast an eye over her remaining forces. Aside from the Stirland troops that she had assigned to guard the artillery and the injured, she had just over a thousand infantry and around two hundred cavalrymen. Since there wasn't a flood of Daemons pouring from the keep, Shepard assumed that there couldn't be more than a few hundred enemies, at most, waiting for them.

"All right, people!" Shepard raised her voice in order to be heard by everyone. "The Ironrock Knights are going to head in first and secure the gate; Lieutenant Locke and his men will be right behind them to provide cover. After that, the rest of us will go in. As soon as the courtyard is ours, I'll lead a team to kill the enemy leader and take the shard. While that's going on, your orders are simple: kill anything that isn't Human. As soon as we're done here, we'll burn this place to the ground."

The troops had been told of the plan before the attack, but with the adrenaline still pumping in their veins, Shepard wanted to make sure that no one forgot anything in the heat of battle. The last thing she needed was an army of Grunts, at least before the Krogan had gone through the Rite.

The men let out a ragged cheer; no one wanted to spend any more time inside the Daemon-infested keep than they had to, and the idea of such a cursed place being reduced to a scorch mark and a bad memory bolstered their spirits.

Shepard gave a nod to the most senior Ironrock Knights and Locke; it was time for them to make their move.

"For the Empire!" the knights shouted, echoed by the light cavalry behind them.

"Who's going with you, General?" Richter asked quietly.

"You, of course," Shepard said. "You'd just get all pouty if I left you behind." She grinned behind her helmet at Richter's open mouth. "I'm also taking Michael; he's good against this Chaos crap." In fact, many Daemons had died just from being _near_ the Warrior Priest's radiant aura. "And Gettmann is coming too. He'll be able to identify the shard. Do you want to take some of the Greatswords?"

"That would make me feel better," Richter said, grateful that Shepard wasn't denying her honor guard from doing their duty. He quickly signaled to six of his men and told them that they were part of the retrieval mission; if their spines went any straighter, Richter feared that they would hurt themselves.

Shepard began the infantry's advance when the cavalry reached the midway point between where they'd started and the gates of the keep. They hadn't even made it to the same point before the cavalry reached the open gate; seconds later, the sound of fighting drifted over the wind, filling their ears with the wet _thunk_ of blades of flesh and the screams of the dying.

"Let's go, double-time!" Shepard picked up the pace; on her order, the various drummers of each unit beat faster, urging the men to hurry.

In the minds of the soldiers, so many things were riding on this battle. If they could not reach the gate in time, the cavalry would die, and the keep might not be taken. If they failed to win here, the shard would be forever beyond their reach. Even worse, the entire Empire would, perhaps, be at risk.

Every man who advanced on the corrupted walls resolved to die before letting any of that happen.

…

Shepard knew to expect the unexpected when she crossed the keep's threshold, but a flying blue manta ray thing the size of a horse wasn't even remotely close was still enough to make her gape. Then the monster was swooping down towards her, and instinct took over; she fired an entire clip into the Daemon before rolling out of the way of its attack. The Daemon screeched as it twisted in midair and attacked again; this time, Shepard was ready with Unbak Urk raised, and the monster split itself in half with its own momentum as it crashed into the axe.

"I _love_ this thing," Shepard muttered, looking down at Unbak Urk; its runes glowed, almost like it anticipated another battle.

The battle, for all that it looked like complete anarchy at first glance, was going well. The mounted units had kept the horde of Daemons at bay long enough for the infantry to turn the tide. Blades rose and fell on both sides, Daemons traded eldritch fire with honest bullets, and faith and determination warred with pure wrongness.

After nearly twenty minutes of intense fighting, though it felt like hours for the mortal army, the number of Daemons began to thin.

"This is our chance!" Shepard yelled out. "Gettmann, can you sense the shard?"

Clutching his staff tightly, Gettmann nodded. "I can feel its power, but something is trying to corrupt it. I fear that it will be lost forever if we do not hurry!"

Without another word, the Wizard began marching for the central structure of the keep. Shepard traded a bemused glance with Richter.

"I guess we should go after him," Shepard said, then turned to Locke. "Take command, Lieutenant; I want all these Daemons dead and gone. If we're not back in fifteen minutes, pull everyone out."

Reluctantly, Locke nodded. "As you command, General. But please, come back alive; remember that you have someone to live for."

At the thought of David, Shepard smiled. "That's exactly why I'm fighting."

Locke was about to comment, but a beam of golden light seared forth from the top of the citadel's tower and moved through a group of soldiers. Anything the light touched, whether it was metal, wood, or flesh, was burned to ash; within seconds, fifty men were practically erased from existence.

"What the fuck!?" Shepard glared up at the tower the light had come from; Terath'orr smirked back at her, then pointed the shard at the soldiers again.

"Scatter!" Shepard rolled forward, narrowly avoiding the beam of light; the dozen men behind her weren't so lucky. "Locke, forget my last order! Get everyone out! No one is safe while that asshole is alive! Everyone who's going in goes _now_!"

With that, Shepard and the rest of the team headed into the citadel. Locke, desperately trying to evacuate the soldiers while avoiding the light of death, only hoped that it wouldn't be the last time he ever saw them.

…

"And I thought the outside looked bad," Shepard muttered as they moved through the halls. "Everything here feels… wrong."

The inside of the citadel was dark, partly illuminated by braziers holding purple fire. What little light the unnatural fire provided revealed symbols of Chaos scrawled over the walls; just looking at the markings made many of the group feel sick. Those that could stayed close to Michael, whose holy light protected them from the worst of the effects. The rest, including Shepard, made sure not to look at the walls.

"That is what Chaos does, General." Michael hadn't dropped his hateful snarl since the battle had started. "It turns everything good and natural in this world and twists it until even the air screams in pain."

Shepard nodded grimly; she decided then and there that if she had a choice between staying in this world with David or sending a single person back to her own galaxy, she would send her son. There was no way in hell she would pass up an opportunity to protect her baby from this nightmare.

"It is close," Gettmann whispered, making the others tense. "So close now. The power is… so great, like being close to the sun, with only a thin cloth for protection against the heat."

"Um, are you all right?" Shepard asked.

Gettmann shook his head, as if to clear it. "I am fine, General; I was simply caught off guard by the shard's power. Whatever has been done to corrupt it is also forcing more of its buried power to the surface."

"You mean like that death-ray thing?" Shepard scowled. "No one said anything about a freaking laser beam. That's just not fair."

 _Besides,_ she thought, _I wanted to be the one to make a working laser beam in this world!_

"We should be close," Richter muttered quietly. "Those stairs up ahead should lead to the tower."

Shepard had to consciously unclench her jaw; it was almost over. "All right, let's do this."

Quietly, the group made their way to the top of the tower. All of them were tense; even Gettmann had a stronger grip on his staff than usual.

As soon as Shepard entered the room, she was nearly overwhelmed by the malice emanating from the sigils painted or carved on the floor and walls. At the center of it all was the Chaos Sorcerer.

"So, you have come at last," he whispered. "I am Terath'orr. I know why you have come: the artifact. I will not let an unworthy creature like you have it."

"I'm afraid I've got to disagree with you," Shepard said through gritted teeth.

"You are an insect, trying to comprehend the works of beings even older than the gods!" Terath'orr clutched the ring to his chest. "It belongs with someone who can understand its power!"

Michael leaned his hammer against his shoulder. "Better it be held by those who do not understand it than by a wretch who would use it for evil."

"What he said." Shepard raised her axe, while keeping her shield held out in front of her. "Take him down!"

Unlike when it happened outside, the group expected the beam of light from the ring, and moved to the sides to avoid it. Still, one Greatsword was too slow and was burned to ash. The rest scattered and attacked from all sides.

Michael struck first, his hammer glowing so bright that it hurt to look at it; the blow smashed into Terath'orr with the force of a vengeful comet, but the Sorcerer was protected, either by his magic or that of the shard, and only staggered back a few paces. Before he could try to counterattack, Richter and the remaining Greatswords surrounded him, hacking at his legs and chest. Some of their strikes bounced off whatever magic was shielding him, but one of Richter's hits managed to carve a gouge in his leg; rather than blood, a blue mist squirted from the wound.

Shepard noticed something odd; she thought that Terath'orr would have used the shard's power over and over, but instead, he seemed to be holding back.

 _Maybe it takes a lot of energy to fire that beam,_ she thought. _It could be that he's running low._

"Keep hitting him!" she yelled. "Don't give him a chance to fight back!"

As if to defy her, Terath'orr fired another beam of light, though this one was much thinner than any that had come before. Still, it punched a fist-sized hole through two of the Greatswords, killing them instantly.

To counter the Sorcerer, Gettmann unleashed a wave of lightning that Terath'orr couldn't repel all of; his shoulder was burned black by the magic, making the staff he held in his other hand clatter to the ground. Terath'orr glanced at the fallen weapon, and that was all the opportunity Shepard needed. Lunging forward, she swung Unbak Urk in a horizontal chop that dug into the Sorcerer's knee, slicing through flesh and bone with ease.

Roaring in pain, Terath'orr unleashed a wave of blue energy outwards, knocking all of them back, but the damage was done. With only a gory thread holding his leg together, the slightest shift was enough to make him fall over; the impact with the floor made him lose his grip on the ring, and it rolled out of reach.

"No!" Terath'orr rolled over and crawled towards the shard, his clawed hands scrabbling madly on the stone floor. "I cannot lose it! Only I can—"

 _Thunk!_

Shepard grimaced as she pulled Unbak Urk up from the gouge it had made in the floor after it chopped through Terath'orr's neck.

"You can't do anything now," she said quietly, "because you're dead." She looked over at the surviving Imperials. "Everyone needs to get out; every second we spend here is dangerous. Gettmann, is the shard safe to be moved?"

Gettmann stumbled over to the ring; he held his hand over it, then paused and frowned. "General… the corruption is fading."

"What?" Michael looked between Gettmann and the ring with wide eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm positive." Gettmann looked like he wanted to take notes. "I cannot explain how it is being done, but I sense the powers of Chaos receding, replaced by… I can only describe it as the complete opposite of Chaos itself." He shook himself out of his daze. "Regardless, though the taint is fading, it could still be dangerous. Until the shard is inspected by the College of Light, no one should touch it directly."

Gettmann quickly pulled off his cloak and used it to pick up the shard, holding the bundle to his chest like it was something precious.

"All right, mission accomplished." Shepard nodded to them all. "Let's get out of here."

…

It took another four days before Shepard's army returned to Nuln. First, they had to wait for a combined force from Stirland, the Reiksguard, and several of the imposing Witch Hunters to arrive. That group handled demolishing the keep and burning away every trace of Chaos. Once the Witch Hunters were sure that none of Shepard's soldiers were corrupted, they were free to head to Wurtbad and retrieve their wounded.

Like the Order of the Golden Hammer, the Ironrock Knights had lost their home, but unlike their traitorous kin, they were still alive to mourn its loss. Once he was declared fit to move, Helschlitt asked Shepard if his Order could be permanently attached to her army. Shepard had no issues with that, and when the army began its march home, Helschlitt and Locke were discussing an arrangement involving experienced members of the latter's troops—even those not of noble birth, much to everyone's surprise—joining the former's Order when the time came. Considering how many of Locke's riders were now veterans, it was likely that the Ironrock Knights would have more members than they did before they had been attacked.

The idea of replenishing her forces was important to Shepard. The final tally of dead numbered almost one thousand, nearly half of her entire army; losing that many men in just a few days made her feel sick. Her senior officers, with Gregor now counted among them, later told her that the survivors were still in high spirits; after all, they had successfully completed their mission, and possibly saved the Empire from a Daemonic invasion in the process. Considering how many lives and immortal souls that saved, a thousand men was a small price to pay.

As much as Shepard wanted to go to Nuln first, she had a duty to perform before that. With an honor guard of Reiksguard Knights, she and Gettmann accompanied the shard—now contained within Shepard's rune-covered chest—to the Altdorf, where it would join the other one at the Colleges of Magic. It didn't take long for the Light Wizards to see that the shard was indeed forcing back the taint of Chaos, but until it was completely free of corruption, they wanted to keep the new shard separate from the first one. Much to Shepard's relief, she was given leave to return to Nuln until the shard was declared safe.

"Welcome back, General," Eliza said as Shepard entered the townhouse that was built across from the workshop. Shepard had bought it long ago, but until David was born, she had spent more time with her troops or with her inventions; it wasn't until she became a mother that she started calling the house her home.

"It's good to be back," Shepard replied, giving the younger woman a tired smile. "How's David been?"

"Absolutely wonderful." Eliza beamed. "He was a little fussy for the first day or two, though; I think he missed you."

"The feeling was mutual." Shepard looked around her apprentice, towards the open door behind her. "Is he asleep?"

The townhouse was rather large for Shepard's taste, and she didn't want to put David in a room across the whole house, so she had moved the crib into her own bedroom. It turned out that both mother and son slept better that way.

"He was just starting to when you arrived." Eliza smiled at the baby-noises coming from the room. "I think he knows you're here."

"Yeah, I'll go see him." Shepard put her arm around Eliza's shoulders and brought the girl in for a one-armed hug. "Thanks for taking care of everything while I was gone."

"It was my pleasure, General." Eliza was blushing furiously, but didn't pull back from the hug. "Why don't you get some rest? I can bring you reports on all of the construction that you missed tomorrow."

Shepard quickly covered up her mouth to hide her yawn. "Okay, we'll do that. You be sure to get some sleep too, Eliza."

"Of course." Eliza stepped back and gave a brief bow. "Goodnight, General."

Once Shepard heard Eliza leave, she walked into the bedroom; there, she saw David sitting up in his crib, smiling his toothless smile when he saw his mother.

"Hey, little man!" Shepard bounded over to the crib and lifted David up and into her arms. Now out of her armor, Shepard had no problem holding her baby tightly to her chest, gently stroking his cheek with her thumb. "I missed you so much, kid."

David burbled, then nuzzled against his mother's neck. Shepard held him close for a long time, gently rocking him back and forth, until he was asleep.

"Thank you," she whispered as she lowered him back into the crib. "Thank you for being my reason for fighting." As she climbed into her own bed, she looked back at her sleeping son. "I love you, David. I know you're too young to know what I'm saying, but I still want you to know that you're the most important thing in the world to me." She reached out and turned off the oil lamp providing her with light. "Goodnight."

…

One week after Shepard's return to Nuln, she received a summons to Altdorf from the Emperor himself. Accompanied once again by the Reiksguard, Shepard headed for the capital and met Karl Franz outside of the College of Light. Much to Gettmann's disappointment, he had not been invited, as the safe storage of the shards fell under the Light Wizards' jurisdiction, and they didn't want someone from a rival College to enter their domain.

"Thank you for coming so quickly," Karl Franz said. "We did not have a chance to speak when you returned, so I would like to congratulate you on your victory, General. The Empire owes you a debt of gratitude."

Shepard smiled modestly. "As long as my son has a safe place to grow up, that's all I need."

"I think you will have more than that." The Emperor smirked, amused by something. "Tales are spreading of the woman General who single-handedly conquered a keep full of Daemons. Some have taken to calling you 'Lady Daemonbane'."

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Shepard sat down on a nearby chair and buried her face in her hands. "First of all, I didn't conquer that keep by myself; I had an army with me! And I don't need another title!"

Karl Franz chuckled. "Yes, you seem to be collecting those with every victory. 'Middenheim Guardian', Dwarf Friend, and now 'Lady Daemonbane'. It does not even matter that you are not a noble; if that last title becomes more widely known, I may have to grant you a noble status. If not, I fear that riots will break out in the streets of Nuln."

Shepard only groaned. Thankfully, several Light Wizards came to escort them into the College before Karl Franz could tease Shepard more. Both of the non-Wizards couldn't help but look around in awe at the brilliantly-lit hallways; it seemed like everything was made of light, yet it was all still solid.

After a few minutes of traveling through what Shepard felt like random hallways, they arrived at a large, open chamber. Dozens of Light Wizards were present, most monitoring the various wards that covered the walls, floor, and ceiling. The handful of those that weren't doing that were there to greet the guests.

One of the Light Wizards stepped forward. He was a thickset man with thinning hair, but he seemed oddly peaceful, like he had just finished a particularly rejuvenating meditation—his attitude reminded Shepard of Samara, minus the desire to kill anyone who crossed the lines only she and the Justicars followed. Like all Light Wizards, he wore white robes that were lined with gold thread; his raised collar was made of some kind of light-blue stone, carved into the shape of a snake.

"My Emperor," the man said, bowing first to Karl Franz, and then to Shepard. "And you must be General Shepard. I have heard good things about you from my peers in the Jade and Celestial Colleges. I am Johann, Patriarch of the Light Order."

Shepard nodded respectfully; other than Balthasar Gelt, she had never met any of the Patriarchs before.

"Thank you for inviting us," Karl Franz said—and Shepard's opinion of Johann rose a few notches, if even the Emperor needed an invitation to enter a College—and glanced around. "May I ask what this is about? Your letter was rather vague."

"That was a matter of security, my Lord." Johann gestured to the other Light Wizards behind him, and they stepped back, revealing both of the rings Shepard had recovered. "Although we have had a year to study the first shard, it was when the second was brought to us that we learned several important things.

"First, as you no doubt already know, the shards possess unimaginable power; however, that power began to increase when we brought the two shards closer together. As a precaution, we have set up wards to diffuse that power until we are ready to unite the two shards. With your permission, my Lord, we can do that at any time."

Shepard glanced at Karl Franz, her eyes silently asking permission to speak, and he nodded. "Did you learn anything else?"

"Ah, yes, this was the most fascinating discovery, and possibly the most important." Johann took a deep breath. "As your Celestial friend told you, the second shard was corrupted by Chaos; knowing that, we added many more wards to that one. However, that was not necessary, as the shard literally burned away the corrupting influence after only a few days. My brethren and I believe that, without a constant supply of Chaos energies, the shards will always purify themselves."

Karl Franz stared at the man for a long moment. "Are you saying that these shards can destroy Chaos itself?"

Johann sighed and shook his head. "I wish that were true, my Lord. However, it seems that the shards' purifying abilities extend only to itself; the best we were able to manage was moderately weakening some lesser Chaos artifacts that were brought close." Johann saw the frown from both Karl Franz and Shepard. "The items in question were perfectly secure, I assure you. Regardless, the shards only had that effect when Light Magic was channeled into them. It seems that the shards both absorb and amplify any magic used on them, but can only do so in a limited fashion."

"Maybe that was why that Sorcerer could only shoot that death-beam," Shepard mused.

"We also believe that he used it to summon Daemons," Johann added grimly. "It seems that the Celestial College was correct—the shards can act as a doorway. The Sorcerer you fought, however, only tapped into a fraction of the shard's power, and altered its original purpose. Without his influence, I believe the shard should be back to normal."

Karl Franz eyed the rings as they spun, suspended in the air by magic. "Who could have created such items?"

"I am not completely sure," Johann admitted. "There are rumors, fragments of stories that we have acquired… they might be related to the shards, but we must gather more information before making any final decisions."

"Do what you can," Karl Franz ordered. "If these shards are so powerful, I want to be absolutely sure that they will not destroy us all."

Johann smiled, but there was no humor in it. "With enough power, anything can be destructive; it depends on the person using it, not the original creators." He raised an eyebrow. "If you desire, we will not join the two shards. However, we have not sensed any malice or danger when they were brought closer together; I believe it would be safe."

"Well, General?" Karl Franz turned to Shepard. "What do you suggest?"

Shepard took a deep breath; she had set out on this path, and so far, she hadn't felt the need to turn back.

"Do it."

"You heard her," the Emperor said, "combine the shards."

Johann bowed his head, then turned and directed the other Light Wizards to remove several of the wards around the shards. As soon as that happened, the two rings flew towards each other; right before they collided, the second ring expanded, until the first could fit perfectly inside it, their surfaces barely touching. Once they combined, they simply floated there for a moment, the two rings spinning in opposite directions.

Shepard was reminded of the gyroscopic turning of a Mass Relay.

Then there was a brief rumble, and the rings glowed brighter. A shimmering pillar of light shot upwards, and then vanished.

"Huh." Shepard glanced at Karl Franz, who looked just as lost as she was. "I wonder what the hell _that_ was about?"

…

Far away, farther than anyone in the Old World could possibly imagine, a woman jerked back in her seat as the screen on her console brightened to an almost blinding degree. The woman shielded her eyes until the light faded, then tapped at the console for several minutes, trying to understand what she had seen.

Finally, once she was sure of the readings, she accessed her communicator. "Admiral Hackett, could you come here for a moment? I think you will want to see this."

A few minutes later, an aging man with grey hair and a trimmed beard, wearing a blue dress uniform, walked calmly to the woman's station.

"What have you got, Specialist Traynor?" Hackett's voice was deep and weighty, like the first echoes of thunder.

Samantha Traynor, a young, pretty woman with tan skin and dark hair, waved her hand at her console.

"It's that strange reading again, sir." Traynor shook her head. "This is the third time it's popped up on scanners."

Hackett stroked his beard. "The first time was just as the Reapers were being destroyed."

"Yes, but it was much stronger then." She frowned. "The second time was much weaker; it was dismissed as an echo of a feedback signal, but no feedback I know of could destroy the Reapers, then send another signal that had the exact same frequency, only on a much smaller scale."

"And you're saying you've detected it again?"

"Exactly, sir. It's still nowhere near as potent as the first time, but it was at least five times stronger than the second."

Hackett closed his eyes for what seemed like a long time. "All right, Traynor, I'm going to divert some more help and resources your way. It's a long shot, but it's the only lead we've got."

Traynor looked up at him with hope in her eyes. "Sir, does this mean that you're authorizing the project?"

"Yes, I am." Hackett smiled. "Operation Lost Shepherd is a go."

 **Wow. Okay, I'm pretty happy with this. I mean, I got this done a mere five days after the last one. Man, it feels good to make that kind of progress!**

 **So, yeah. Shepard has the second shard, has some new friends, and some old friends are looking for her. I bet you weren't expecting that, were you? Sorry to say, however, that they won't be showing up very often, but I do have plans. You'll just have to be patient.**

 **I'm not gonna lie, my favorite parts of this story (so far, anyway) are the mom!Shepard moments, so I had to put in one for this chapter.**

 **Next Chapter: Time flies when you're busy. The fruits of Shepard's labor are almost ready to catapult the Empire into a new age!**

 **Three things make the Empire great: faith, steel and Muffins.**


	20. Mother of Invention

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. I AM, HOWEVER, ALLOWED TO FIDDLE WITH IDEAS ON HOW BETTER TO DESTROY THINGS THAT WANT TO EAT ME. THIS INCLUDES THE CYBORG HAMSTER SITTING ON MY BED… PLEASE HELP ME.**

 **First things first, I want to apologize for taking this long to update. I really don't have an excuse. I mean, I was finishing Outcast Effect, I had very hard classes to work on, then I had to update Cycles, then I became sick to a scary degree… wait, I have plenty of excuses!**

 **So, anyway, I think a lot of you got the wrong idea from the end of the last chapter. First of all, do** _ **not**_ **expect to see Mass Effect spaceships swooping in to destroy all the bad guys. That would just be unfair. Secondly, I'm not going to suddenly give the Empire modern-day automatic weaponry and other such stuff. That won't even happen in Shepard's lifetime. There will be some large-scale improvements for the Empire, but I'm not making them OP. This won't be a 'Humanity Fuck-Yeah!' story.**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 20

Mother of Invention

" _The Empire will never yield to its enemies. This I swear, by the steel I forge!"—Inscribed on a plaque at the Imperial Engineers School, attributed to General Alexia Shepard._

" _Who wrote that cheesy bullshit? I know_ I _didn't."—General Alexia Shepard, upon reading the plaque._

…

Shepard was no stranger to taking risks; in fact, she generally thrived in high-risk situations. If she didn't, she probably would have died long before the Reapers even showed up. As it was, however, even though it wasn't her life she was risking at the moment, there was a lot of tension in the air.

"Please, be careful!"

And, as much as Shepard wished she could ignore him, the engineer behind her wasn't making things any easier by constantly fretting. She honestly didn't know why he was so worried. Well, yes, she _had_ disassembled a priceless weapon of the Empire's, but she was positive that she could put it all back together.

"I _am_ being careful," Shepard said, trying to resist the urge to throw something at the man.

The engineer was supposedly one of the best, hailing from the Imperial Engineers School in Altdorf, but all he had done since meeting Shepard was worry about what she was doing and scrutinize every action she took. After the third day, Shepard had decided that she didn't even want to bother learning his name.

"But—" before the man could continue, Shepard leveled the full force of her glare at him.

"Look, I understand that the Steam Tank is a rare and powerful machine," she said, speaking to him as if he were a child. "But there are only _eight_ of them left. The ones we have are _centuries_ old, they're a danger to the driver, and they've _exploded_ before! From what I understand, they can barely be put back together when they're damaged. I want to study how this one works, and then I can make more, preferably ones that are safer, and also _better_. Now please, shut up, or I'll make you wait outside."

It had been a huge favor to ask Karl Franz if Shepard could borrow one of the venerable Steam Tanks, and even the Emperor had started when she told him that she wanted to disassemble it. The only reason she hadn't been immediately denied was because Shepard not only promised to put the tank back together once she was done, she had plans to make more, something that no engineer had been able to do since Leonardo of Miragliano, the man who'd created the Steam Tanks in the first place.

The Emperor had been reluctant to agree, but unlike most engineers, Shepard's inventions were reliable; the worst accident that had happened was a small fire and a few minor explosions. None of Shepard's growing number of facilities had had to be rebuilt, and only minor injuries had ever been reported. In addition, Shepard had always delivered on her promises, and the idea of having more Steam Tanks—better than the originals, if Shepard's word was to be believed—was appealing.

In the end, Shepard had been granted one of the Steam Tanks to examine, though only on the condition that that particular tank's attending engineer be present to observe. At the time, Shepard hadn't seen a problem with that.

If she had known that the engineer would be so annoying, she might have objected.

With said engineer cowed, at least for the moment, Shepard returned her attention to the parts that lay on her factory's floor. Each part was carefully labeled by her apprentices, down to the smallest bolt; even if Shepard couldn't make new tanks—and she'd probably turn in her engineering degree if that happened—she wouldn't let such a valuable piece of equipment be lost because of a missing part.

"All right, this junction of pipes would allow redirection of steam to any of the systems," Shepard muttered to herself, taking notes as she gingerly stepped around various parts. "But how does the driver know when there's too much pressure?" She glanced up at her apprentices. "Hey! Anyone see anything that looked like a pressure gauge?"

Each apprentice had been assigned a series of parts to keep watch over, and if no one could actually say what a part did, then they would identify it by general shape. A pressure gauge, however, was something that they could all recognize. Shepard scowled when all she got was a series of negative answers.

"All right, you," she said, walking back to the engineer. "There has to be some way of keeping an eye on the pressure buildup, so how does a driver do it?"

"Well, er…" the man's oversized mustache quivered. "You see, each tank is temperamental, so the drivers are trained to account for this as best they can."

"Which is a fancy way of saying that there _aren't pressure gauges in a tank that's powered by fucking pressure_!" Shepard smacked her notepad against her forehead. "See, _this_ is why I get headaches. Eliza!"

"Yes, General?" Eliza already had her own notebook ready.

"Add pressure gauges to the list," Shepard ordered. "And redundant piping, just in case."

"Er, list?" the engineer asked timidly.

"Yeah, I'm comparing the designs I've come up with so far for my tank to what I know about this one," Shepard said absently, writing out equations on her notepad. "I'm adding anything to my tank that this one doesn't, but should. I didn't put in pressure gauges to the to-do list because I thought that that was obvious, but now I'm making sure that we have them."

"General, would the same gauges we use for the boiler work?" Eliza asked.

Shepard thought about it for a moment. "We'll use them for the prototype, but mark it as tentative for mass-production."

"Understood, General."

While Eliza worked, Shepard continued to examine the parts. She paused at the highly decorated prow of the tank. "Why does everyone feel the need to put stuff on stuff? It's fine the way it is, you don't need to make it pretty! It's a tank, not a Karak, dammit!" Shepard raised her fist, nearly striking the metal, but pulled back. "Leitzer, add another two feet to the height and length on the blueprints. We need to take ammunition storage into account."

"There is plenty of room for ammunition already!" the engineer protested.

Shepard rolled her eyes. "Maybe, but your tank only has two people doing about four different jobs. This new design is going to be bigger, not just because of the improvements, but because there will be a total of four people in the tank."

"F-four!?" the man looked like he was going to faint.

"Of course," Shepard said. "A commander, a driver, a gunner, and an actual engineer for maintenance and field-repairs." She glanced at the parts behind her. "And I'm telling you now, I'm not putting decorations on my tank unless the Emperor himself orders me to."

At that, the man _did_ faint.

"Finally," Shepard breathed. "Someone get this idiot out of here; maybe now we can actually get some work done!"

…

Several hours later, Shepard had dismissed her engineers for the night and joined her officers for a brief meeting. Even though a month had passed, it was still odd to see Gregor join their circle.

"Anything new to report?" Shepard asked softly as she rocked David in her arms; her son had been in a secluded room in the factory where he could sleep, and Shepard had decided to take him with her to the meeting on their way home.

"Our losses are nearly replaced," Richter said, regarding the rank and file troops. "The quartermasters say that our supplies might actually be overstocked, mostly from donations from the citizenry."

Despite hating being a hero, Shepard felt just a twinge of pride; in her mind, she and her men had _earned_ their place as champions of Nuln.

"I know they've probably already done it, but have the quartermasters check those donations," Shepard ordered. "I might just be paranoid, but I don't want to find out that we got tainted food or something."

"Of course, General."

"Locke, how's the recruiting going?"

"Excellently," Locke said, and everyone snickered at how he tried to sound bombastic, while still whispering, so as not to wake up David. "It is a good thing that we have so many new Pistoliers and Outriders, because nearly all of our veterans have earned their way into the Ironrock Knights' ranks."

"Glad to hear it." Shepard turned to her newest officer. "Speaking of the knights, how is your Order doing, Gregor?"

"Quite well," Gregor answered. "It will be some time more before our ranks have been restored, but now that we are accepting Lieutenant Locke's men, it will take far less time than I initially feared. I have spoken to the quartermasters about ordering more equipment and horses, though I believe that it may be expensive."

"See what can be afforded, and I'll cover the rest," Shepard said easily; between the contracts and financial deals she'd made with various Nuln businesses and the sales of her weapons, Shepard was one of the wealthiest people in the city. "If there's nothing else, I have a bit of an announcement; considering what it's about, I may need Gregor and Locke to help me through it."

Michael raised an eyebrow. "Should we be concerned, General?"

"I hope not." Shepard reached into the satchel at her side, pushing aside notes and reports, to pull out a letter that had once been sealed with red wax. "I got this from Countess Emmanuelle von Liebwitz."

Honestly, Shepard had almost forgotten that she would _ever_ have anything to do with the only female leader of the Empire. Considering Nuln's status as all but an independent city-state and its position at the border of Wissenland and Reikland, Shepard rarely thought about how her home was on the other side of the Emperor's home province.

Locke stumbled, despite not walking when Shepard had spoken. "The Elector Countess of Wissenland!?"

Everyone glared at him when he shouted, but, thankfully for him, David barely stirred.

"And the mayor of Nuln, plus a whole bunch of other titles," Shepard said with narrowed eyes. "I'm not sure why she hasn't met with me before; you'd think she'd want to see someone who works directly under the Emperor at least once."

"And the letter is an invitation to see her now?" Parral asked.

"In three days," Shepard said. "The letter's vague; the only thing I know is that she wants to have tea, and 'discuss the future of Nuln', whatever that means."

"She wants something from you," Gregor said, his tone grim. "Whatever she may offer, know that it will benefit her in some way as well."

"I figured as much." Shepard sighed as she gently stroked David's head. "How much trouble would I be in if I just refused whatever she offered?"

"A lot," Locke said, after regaining his composure. "You may have the support of the Emperor and several others, but an Elector Count can make your life very… _uncomfortable_ , shall we say, especially when you live in her city."

Shepard chewed on her lip for a moment, considering her options. "So long as she understands that I report to the Emperor first, not her, I don't see a problem."

"Well, if all else fails, we could move to Averland," Locke joked. "Is it true that Count Leitdorf sent you a poem that praises your deeds?"

"He sent me four, actually." Shepard privately admitted that, while she had no real taste in poetry, the Mad Count's poems were actually quite good. "But I don't think it'll come to that. Anyway, I'd like Gregor and Locke to stay behind for a few hours after our meeting tomorrow; you'll have to tell me everything that I should and shouldn't do when dealing with the Countess."

With the meeting over, Shepard looked down at David, who opened his eyes. He made a happy squeal and reached for his mother's face.

Shepard smiled when tiny hands grabbed her nose. "You're lucky you're worth it, kid; I don't think I'd do all this work for anyone else." David babbled at her for a moment. "Yeah, I love you too. Come on, I'll tell you about the modifications I'm planning for my tank design on the way home."

…

While Shepard was excellent at keeping her emotions in check, many of her engineers were not as disciplined. When they weren't working on the first stage of the new tank's construction, they were torn between murderous scowls and incessant giggling.

"These designs are ludicrous!" Rissenbaum, the Steam Tank engineer from before—Shepard had finally learned his name—was pacing around the table Shepard was using to display her blueprints. "You claim to hate decoration, yet I see so many unnecessary additions to your machine!"

This was when the other engineers scowled; Rissenbaum was constantly belittling Shepard's designs, or coming very close to belittling her.

Shepard, for her part, was barely fazed. "These 'unnecessary additions' are redundancies, in case there's a malfunction that can't be repaired quickly, and pressure gauges, so that the engineer aboard the tank actually knows what he's doing."

And that was when the giggles could be heard; every single one of Rissenbaum's criticisms were shot down by pure logic and practicality. It was a trait of Shepard's that was slowly filtering through to other Nuln engineers—trading in eccentricity and borderline madness for steady improvements and useful items. If an engineer wanted to work on his own experiments, he was welcome to do so within his own workshop, but tampering with anything that would be distributed to the Empire at large was now disapproved of.

That practice had yet to spread to Altdorf, and was creating a larger rivalry than before between the two cities' engineers. Considering Nuln's rapid increase in prosperity, however, many considered it inevitable that Altdorf would follow in Nuln's footsteps.

"This… this…" Rissenbaum threw up his hands. "This flies in the face of every engineering tradition in Altdorf! Leonardo of Miragliano would be rolling in his grave!"

"I seriously doubt he would care," Shepard said with a wicked grin. "After all, he came from Tilea, and he blew up his own workshop when he died. I'm still alive, and none of my buildings have exploded." Rissenbaum sank to the floor, face buried in his hands. "All right, while he's moping, I want the framework brought in! Leitzer, how's our supply of steel?"

"The last shipment is being enhanced by the Gold Wizards you hired as we speak, General," Leitzer reported.

"Fantastic. Eliza, did you double-check the numbers?"

"Yes, General." The young woman was practically bouncing in excitement. "If we have each of your factories make certain parts and then ship them here, we can assemble the majority of the prototype in ten days."

Shepard gave her engineers a satisfied grin. "And that, people, is why I love teamwork; can you imagine how long this would take if I had to do this myself? I think _David_ would have to finish working on it!"

The engineers laughed, then set about working on the 'bones' of the new tank; the rest of the parts would be assembled according to Shepard's specifications by her other factories soon enough.

"General Shepard." Shepard glanced behind her to see Rissenbaum standing up. "May I ask about the condition of my tank?"

"The museum piece?" Shepard absently waved her hand at a tarp-covered object in the corner of the workshop. "We put it together this morning. Once we figured out how to take it apart, it wasn't hard to undo it. By the way, we cleaned out the pipes, so the pressure won't build up where it shouldn't. Not as much, anyway."

Rissenbaum scowled at the insult. "I will inspect every inch of my tank when I bring it back to Altdorf. If _anything_ is out of place, I am sure that the Emperor will be most displeased."

Shepard wasn't worried, mostly because she _knew_ that the Steam Tank had been reassembled properly, but also because Karl Franz firmly supported her. He'd at least give her a chance to fix a mistake.

"And I believe that you will fail." At that, Shepard blinked.

"Come again?"

"You move too quickly, and your methods lack grace." Rissenbaum looked so smug. "You believe that your machine will best one that has served the Empire for centuries, and yet you decry other engineers for coming up with mad ideas."

"How _dare_ you!" Shepard turned and saw Leitzer struggling to hold Eliza back. "How dare you insult her! Get out of here immediately!"

Shepard was staring now; not because of what Rissenbaum said, but because of the sheer fury emanating from Eliza, and from the way the other engineers were glaring, they weren't far behind her. Very few people in Shepard's life had come to her defense with such ferocity; usually, Shepard was the one doing the defending. Seeing that, as well as outraged tears in the corners of Eliza's eyes, was enough for Shepard; something needed to be done to put Rissenbaum in his place.

"How about a wager?" Shepard asked, her iron will the only thing keeping the words from coming out as a snarl.

"What do you mean?"

"A contest, to see which tank is really better," Shepard explained, warming up to the idea now that it was in her head. "We'll have a third party come up with the challenge, and whoever does better, wins."

Rissenbaum crossed his arms. "What would the stakes be?"

Shepard hummed in thought. "If I win, you make a public apology to me and my staff; oh, and you hand over ten percent of your profits for the next year."

As an engineer in charge of a venerable Steam Tank, not to mention being a successful engineer in his own right, Rissenbaum made quite a bit of money.

"Very well," the man agreed. "However, if _I_ win, you must not only admit that you failed, you will shut down all production of new tanks… and you hand over the rights of your factories to me."

"That's absurd!" Now Eliza was the one holding Leitzer back.

Shepard ignored the others. "Deal. How does three weeks from now sound?"

"On the testing ground in Altdorf," Rissenbaum added.

"Sure. Was there anything else?" Rissenbaum shook his head. "Good. Now get the hell out of my factory, and take your piece of crap tank with you."

After Rissenbaum left, and the old Steam Tank was loaded onto a specially designed cart that was pulled by strong horses, Shepard found herself surrounded by worried engineers.

"General, why did you accept that wager?" Eliza asked. "You stand to lose so much!"

Shepard grinned and ruffled the girl's hair, making her squeak. "People, you need to relax. I designed this tank specifically to be better than that pile of junk, and with you all to help me build it, there's no way we'll lose."

"But we haven't even selected a crew for it!" another engineer cried out.

"Come on, you've spent almost as much time around the designs as I have," Shepard reminded them. "Any one of you could probably operate the thing blindfolded." She then shrugged. "You _are_ right, though, we need a crew. Normally, I'd have a team of four, but since every one of us will be engineers, I don't think we need a spare. Leitzer, you're driving."

"Me!?" Leitzer looked panicked, yet at the same time, immensely pleased.

"You recognized the weight-distribution problem before _I_ did," Shepard said. "You know the limits of the engine. Eliza, you're the gunner; don't argue, you know the ballistics better than anyone alive."

Eliza beamed, even as she fidgeted with her glasses.

"As for the Commander…" Shepard grinned at a joke only she understood. "That'll be me."

…

"General Alexia Shepard to see you, my Lady," the servant announced.

"Very good, send her in." Elector Countess Emmanuelle von Liebwitz, Shepard noticed, was a beautiful woman, and had the voice to match. There were very few times that Shepard was self-conscious about her looks, and even fewer times was she jealous, but just being in the same room with the Countess was enough to make her want to check her hair.

"My Lady," Shepard said, bowing slightly at the waist. She was a military officer, not a lady of the court, and did not curtsey. "I am honored by your summons."

It chafed to speak like that to anyone, but Gregor and Locke had been adamant that she show an absurd level of respect. The Countess could be unpredictable at times—not as much as Leitdorf, but enough to keep people guessing—so unless Shepard was given leave to speak plainly, she had to be careful.

"Oh, there's no need for such formality, General." From the way von Liebwitz cocked her head and looked at her, Shepard could tell that she was being studied, though for what, she wasn't sure. "Please, join me."

Shepard sat down at the other side of the small, if lavish, table. Even though she had been assured by Locke that she was presentable, she still felt underdressed. She wore pants the color of fresh snow, black riding boots that had been polished to a sheen, and a black shirt that complimented her figure, but was still modest.

The Countess, on the other hand, wore a stunning gown that trailed to her ankles. The sleeves opened up at the elbows, exposing flawless skin. Her shoulders were bare and the neckline of her gown plunged a bit, but a necklace of diamonds concealed any cleavage. Her black hair fell freely down her back, though Shepard had to wonder what she used to make it so glossy. Just behind the Countess' chair, Shepard could see the hilt of a Runefang, and from the way the woman sat, it was a safe bet to assume that she had at least one knife hidden away. Even if she hadn't had any weapons, von Liebwitz had an aura of cunning about her, tempered by an honest curiosity.

The Countess was far more than a pretty face; Shepard had been wary of the woman before, and though the wariness remained, it was already tinged with respect.

"Some tea, General?" von Liebwitz gestured to the cup near Shepard's arm. "I had it imported from Estalia; I've heard it's the best they have to offer."

Shepard accepted the tea poured by a servant; she drank only when the Countess did, and though she wasn't a tea-drinker, she had to admit that it was pretty good.

"It's the best I've ever had," Shepard said. She still preferred Dwarf ale, though.

The Countess smiled. "Oh, good. Now, shall we get down to business?"

"Of course, my Lady."

"Please, speak as you would to a friend," von Liebwitz said, waving Shepard's words away. "And call me Emmanuelle; I hear 'my Lady' so often by everyone else that I worry I'll forget my own name."

Shepard failed to suppress a smile. "Then, please, call me Alexia; even most of my friends only call me Shepard."

Emmanuelle's smile widened. "It seems that we are more alike than I thought. But, alas, we cannot dawdle forever; we both have much work to do."

"I'm sure," Shepard said. "What was it you wanted to see me about? Your letter was a little vague."

"That was done out of necessity," Emmanuelle said, eyes darkening slightly. "There are many people who would like to know what I am doing during my time away from the court, and very few of them have noble intentions." She shook away whatever dark thoughts she was having. "As for why I've called you here… the first reason was a selfish one, I admit. There are very few women in the Empire who wield any real power, and to see one rise to such prominence in my city caught my attention. You and I are proof that women can be more than wives and mothers—though I hear that you have quite the adorable son, yes?"

Shepard's face lit up at the thought of David. "I agree that women are capable of everything men are, but my son is the reason I fight so hard."

Emmanuelle giggled. "You've combined the strength of a warrior with the drive of a loving mother. If I didn't think you would make a difference before, I do now. But, sadly, we cannot linger on the topic of adorable children.

"I have seen the results of your engineering. The factories you've purchased or built have increased Nuln's productivity and wealth considerably, and the weapons you have created are beginning to make a larger difference across the Empire. The ones used against the Skaven, for example." Emmanuelle shuddered. "Horrid things. When I heard about them, I had nightmares for weeks. But beyond that, you sold a great deal of your new weapons to Count Todbringer, and I was curious as to why."

Shepard blinked as she tried to recall that particular deal. "Oh, right, he wanted to burn the Beastmen out of a few places with the flamethrowers, and then force them into clearings so that the Heavy Repeaters could kill them all. Well, I sold him the weapons because I heard about how so many people are killed by those monsters every year. If my weapons can make things safer for them, even a little, then I have to do something. I can't ignore innocent people getting killed. I _won't_."

Emmanuelle's smile was soft. "You are a selfless person, Alexia. I actually feel a little bad about myself now."

Shepard took another sip of tea. "Let me guess: you want something."

"I'm afraid I do. However, it _does_ help people, so I believe that it is for a good cause." Emmanuelle slid a sealed letter across the table. "I want to appoint you Seneschal of Nuln."

Shepard blinked. "I'm sorry, but I don't know what that title entails."

"Essentially, it would give you a noble status, and make you acting ruler of Nuln, should the city ever be attacked." Emmanuelle's smile disappeared as she looked Shepard in the eye. "This would also be the case for all of Wissenland if I were to die. I have no heir, and until I have one, I need someone to lead this city, and this province, should the worst come. My brother could potentially do the job, but he is far more dedicated to the way of the sword than of the ruler."

Shepard's first impulse was to refuse. Refuse, and then run as far away as possible. It was one thing to organize engineers, or command an army. It was another to control a city, even for a short while, and it would be even worse if she was in charge of an entire province.

However, after the initial shock wore off, Shepard could understand why Emmanuelle would do this. Shepard had a good grasp of infrastructure, even the soldiers she didn't directly command respected her, and she had openly stated that she couldn't ignore a cry for help.

And if she accepted, everyone would know that her first loyalty would be to Nuln and Wissenland. Even if the worst never occurred and Shepard never had to fulfill the duties of Seneschal, the very idea that it _could_ happen would be enough to isolate her from certain areas. If she wasn't careful, this position could upset the relationship she had with the Emperor; her rise in power might be seen as a threat.

On the other hand, being the possible heir to a province opened up new possibilities. So many resources would be available to her, and it would be unlikely that she would ever have to fight to make changes, at least within Nuln.

Emmanuelle had played on her selflessness and desire to do good to trap her. As much as Shepard had begun to like the woman, what the Countess had done was just cruel.

"I will accept," Shepard said quietly, "but I have two conditions."

Clearly, Emmanuelle hadn't expected a catch, if the surprise that flitted across her face was any indication. She must have thought that Shepard would jump at the chance to help people. Her expression quickly returned to its normal smile, however.

"What conditions?" she asked.

"First, I want it to be known that, unless I have to actually exercise my authority as Seneschal, my loyalty is to the Empire, first and foremost. The Emperor still gives me my missions, and that surpasses any order you may have." Inwardly, Shepard cheered at the flicker of irritation in Emmanuelle's eyes; point to her. "Second, my son will have the same kind of protection that you're given. Taking this position will make me enemies, and I wouldn't be surprised if someone got it into their head that going after my son to get to me." The look on Shepard's face was enough to make even Emmanuelle lean back in her seat. "Endangering the people I love is the last mistake _anyone_ will ever make."

The underlying message was clear: Emmanuelle would get her champion, but if she tried to control Shepard through David, nothing would save her.

Emmanuelle nodded. "Those conditions are reasonable, and I will make it very clear that your first loyalty is to the Empire as a whole." She smiled again. "Now then, I hear that you're heading to Altdorf to settle some kind of wager?"

"Your spies are pretty good." Shepard was willing to let the discussion move to a safer topic, but she had reached her limit when it came to subtlety and tact. "Yes, my engineers and I are working to finish my new Steam Tank design. We'll be putting it to the test against one of the originals."

"Considering how instrumental the Steam Tank has been to the Empire, I am certainly interested." There was an honest curiosity in Emmanuelle's eyes now. "I would love to observe the demonstration."

Since Emmanuelle was an Elector Countess, Shepard really didn't have the ability to refuse. "Then I can look forward to you cheering us on?"

"How could I not support my own Seneschal?" Emmanuelle reached out and put her hand over Shepard's. "I am certain that you will do well, Alexia. I won't keep you from your work any longer."

Shepard stood, and though she knew it was probably a bad idea, she decided to get one last shot in before leaving.

"Thank you for everything, _my Lady_ ," Shepard said the last two words with a low, almost sensual tone, then brought Emmanuelle's hand to her mouth and kissed it. She threw in a wink as she left, only barely holding back a laugh at the furious blush on the other woman's face.

Now it was the Countess who was off-balance. Another point to Shepard.

…

Time passed, and while Shepard had initially feared that Emmanuelle would find some way to strike back at her for her little bit of mischief, nothing happened. Perhaps she understood that Shepard didn't mean anything by it, or perhaps she decided that it wasn't worth the effort. Either way, Shepard returned to work; time was counting down until the contest in Altdorf.

Talk of Shepard's wager had spread across her army and into various parts of Nuln. The troops, especially the veterans, had the utmost confidence in her, even if most of them had no idea what the contest was about. They did, however, decide to double their patrols, just in case someone else who had a stake in the wager decided to 'adjust' the odds in their favor. The citizens, on the other hand, were praying for her victory, both because she was a rising star in the city, and because they didn't want some Altdorf engineer to get his grubby little hands into _their_ city.

The only one who seemed completely at ease was Shepard. Whenever someone brought up the contest or the wager, she just smiled and told them not to worry, that she knew exactly what she was up against.

And she was right. While she had dismissed the older Steam Tank as a relic—and not in the good way, like Unbak Urk; honestly, Shepard was surprised that the tank she examined wasn't held together by spit and prayer—that hadn't stopped her from learning about every component of the machine. Even though she hadn't tested those parts, she had a fairly good idea of what the tank's limits were. Even better, she knew _exactly_ what kind of limits her own tank had.

So when the time for the contest began, it was a supremely confident Shepard that led the way into Altdorf. Behind her was a small column of men, most of her engineers, and a flatbed cart that had had to be built specifically to carry the tank, which was concealed by a large tarp.

"Welcome back to Altdorf, General," Karl Franz said as Shepard's company arrived at the Imperial Engineers School. "It is good to see you on a less grim occasion."

Shepard bowed her head; since this was an occasion where the Emperor was merely observing, Shepard didn't have to give a full bow.

"Likewise, sir. I hope you enjoy the show."

"I believe I will, Seneschal." Karl Franz smiled warmly, so he clearly didn't hold any ill will towards Shepard's new position, or if he did, she couldn't tell. "And so will the others."

Shepard glanced around the Emperor to see that she had several other illustrious members in the audience. There was Kurt Helborg and Ludwig Schwarzhelm, though the latter was clearly there as the Emperor's bodyguard. Emmanuelle was also present; thankfully, she smiled warmly at Shepard, so if she held any resentment, she was hiding it better than Shepard thought possible. To her surprise, however, Marius Leitdorf was there as well; from the way he was leaning close to Emmanuelle as he spoke to her, and the way the Countess' bodyguards gripped their weapons, he was flirting. For her part, Emmanuelle was ignoring him.

"I'm sure my crew and I won't disappoint," Shepard said, nodding respectfully at the Emperor again. "If you'll excuse me, I have to get my tank ready."

Once Karl Franz nodded and walked away, Shepard headed to the workstation that she had been given for the occasion. There, she found Eliza on her knees, in the middle of a panic attack. From the exasperated look on Leitzer's face, she had been like that for a while.

"Why am I here!?" she shrieked, while Leitzer climbed into the tank. "Two Elector Counts… and the Emperor himself! I can't go out there, I just can't, I—"

"Eliza, breathe." Shepard helped the younger woman to her feet. "You have absolutely nothing to worry about. Remember, you're going to be in the tank the whole time. No one but Leitzer and I can see you."

"But what if we make a mistake?" Eliza fretted, then went very pale. "What if we _lose_?"

Shepard rolled her eyes. "Eliza, you know what this baby is capable of, and you and I went over the stats on the old tanks. Do you honestly think our tank is going to fail?"

Eliza blinked. "Um, 'our' tank, General? It's yours."

"Like hell it is!" Shepard marched Eliza over to the tank, where the initials SLS were stenciled just below the turret. "Do you see that? That's the initials for the Schwarzer-Leitzer-Shepard Steam Tank, and I promise you that every tank we make will have your guys' names on it too."

Shepard honestly worried that Eliza's eyes might fall out of her head, what with how wide they were. "You… you included us in the brand?"

"Of course I did!" Shepard ruffled Eliza's hair. "You two were there for practically every step of the design and construction; heck, I think you came up with half of the redesigns!"

Eliza's eyes shined with tears, and she quickly wiped her eyes. "Th-thank you, General."

"You're welcome," Shepard said, then crossed her arms. "Now, are you gonna let some arrogant douchebag beat _our_ tank?"

This time, Eliza's eyes were bright with determination. "Like hell I will! I'm going to make sure that that horse's ass knows _exactly_ who beat him!"

"That's the spirit!" Shepard patted her on the back. "Now get in that tank and get ready to roll out!"

Eliza scrambled into the tank—and the tiny girl needed a box to hop on so that she could get to the hatch—and Shepard marched to the middle of the field, a large, open arena that had been dotted with ditches, walls and other obstacles, as well as wooden cutouts of various foes the Empire faced.

Nearby, Rissenbaum sneered. "Are you prepared to lose, General?"

Shepard didn't even look at him. "Hey, I'm using that air, stop wasting it."

Rissenbaum turned an interesting shade of red, but before he could respond, a herald stepped onto the field.

"Presenting General Alexia Shepard, Seneschal of Nuln, Middenheim Guardian, Dwarf Friend, Lady Daemonbane!" Shepard resisted the urge to groan; Emmanuelle had given her _another_ title for the growing list!

The small crowd of engineers in the stands—which, Shepard noticed, were _far_ away from the field—cheered. Apparently, Shepard had more support among her Altdorf peers than she thought; she would have guessed that more of them would cheer for Rissenbaum.

"And her opponent in today's challenge… Engineer Wilhelm Rissenbaum, of the Imperial Engineers School!"

Shepard blinked. _His first name is Wilhelm?_

"Today's challenge will test the maneuverability of the tanks, as well as their accuracy and reliability." The herald waved his arm at the other half of the field. "Whichever tank can make it to the bell on the other side first will earn ten points; additional points will be awarded for targets that are hit along the way, while points will be deducted if your tank is unable to overcome a given obstacle along the way after the first try.

"The rules of conduct are simple: do not fire upon the other tank, or interfere in their side of the obstacle course." The herald gave both engineers a stern glare. "Should you break these rules, you will be automatically disqualified."

Rissenbaum sneered, but Shepard only nodded patiently.

"Instruct your crews to bring out the tanks!"

While Rissenbaum made a show of himself by making several grand gestures, Shepard just lazily waved her arm.

The first tank to emerge was the older Steam Tank. Smoke belched from its smokestacks as it lurched forward. The tank was decorated with scrolls and embellished with symbols of allegiance to both Sigmar and Karl Franz. Shepard tried not to wince at the sound of metal briefly grinding against metal, and wondered if one of the large wheels in the back was touching the chassis.

While the older tank announced its presence with a roar, Shepard's model had a deep, low growl, like a jungle cat that was preparing to strike. It was shaped vaguely like the older tank, but that was about the only similarity. Though smoke trickled out as the engine churned, the smokestacks were mounted near the bottom of the tank, rather than the top. The gleaming plating was sloped in a way to deflect attacks, rather than absorb them.

It was also significantly larger than the older Steam Tank, nearly half again as long and wide, and a good two feet taller. Like its predecessor, a cannon jutted out from the triangular prow of the tank, though this one was no steam-powered gun; it was a modified Great Cannon, with a rotating socket that even allowed it to aim upwards, albeit not by much. The turret on top didn't have a steam gun, instead, it was a modified swivel gun that Shepard had purchased from a shipyard. On either side of the rotating turret was a Heavy Repeater, calibrated to both Shepard and Eliza's exacting specifications. Unlike the smaller tank, which had wheels, Shepard's design had treads, an addition never seen before in the Empire, which were almost completely covered by removable plates; without the bulky back wheels of the previous design, there was more room for armor around the engine, and ammunition storage.

The most obvious contrast between the two tanks, other than the size and armament, was the lack of decoration on Shepard's. In fact, other than the initials by the turret, there was only one thing added to the aesthetics of the tank—a single name, painted in red.

 _Mako_.

Shepard grinned as she hopped over to her tank and climbed inside. The inside of the _Mako_ was still cramped, but unlike her older counterpart, there was still enough room for her crew to avoid being pressed against the hull.

"Great startup, Leitzer; you nailed the dramatic entrance."

Leitzer glanced at her from his seat, which was surrounded by several levers and a steering wheel. "I aim to please, General."

"Hey, we're in the tank; it's Commander until we get out."

"I think you're enjoying this," Leitzer sighed, "Commander."

Shepard only smiled from her seat, which was just behind Leitzer's. "Eliza, how're the scopes?"

"Working perfectly, Commander!" Now that her anxiety was past, Eliza was practically vibrating with excitement. Still, she remained in her seat, where two scopes, which were a series of reflecting mirrors, allowed her to see where to aim either the main cannon or the turret, depending on which scope she used.

If this had been a combat situation, Shepard might have been a little worried about Eliza's safety; she had no actual combat experience—neither did Leitzer, but he was almost always calm, regardless of what was happening—and the gunner's seat was closest to the front, where enemy fire would probably hit first. But this was just a contest, one that Shepard needed to win, and Eliza was one of the best for this job.

 _Note to self,_ she thought, _tank crews are going to be taking a lot of enemy fire, so I should recommend higher pay to them._

"Your orders, Commander?" Leitzer asked, dragging Shepard back to the present.

"Head to the starting line, half speed," Shepard ordered, then grinned as the boiler in the back hissed. "Just listen to that baby purr!" she glanced at the gauges. "Ha! Pressure's still nominal!"

As the _Mako_ ground across the field, Shepard looked through her own scope, which was just behind the gunner's turret scope. "Gunner, turn turret by thirty-eight degrees left."

"Thirty-eight degrees left, aye!" Shepard bit on her lip to keep from laughing; maybe she shouldn't have taught Eliza how to respond like that, considering how enthusiastic she was getting.

Peering through her scope, Shepard saw the audience watching the tanks get ready. To her, it appeared that many of them were pointing at the _Mako_ and talking amongst themselves. Good, that meant that they would notice whenever Shepard unveiled what the tank could do.

All three of them paused when they heard a loud roaring sound coming from outside. "I guess Rissenbaum got his tank moving," Leitzer commented.

"Yep." Shepard peered through the scope again; on the far side of the field, she could see a man with a green flag. "Driver, prepare for half speed again, on my mark."

"Ready, Commander."

"Gunner, I see our first target. Giant spider cutout; once we pass the first rise, we'll stop so that you can fire."

"Do we have to stop?" Eliza asked.

"We're showing off how reliable we are," Shepard reminded her. "We're not going to do a good job of that if we miss because we tried showing off."

"Aww…" Eliza didn't take her eye off the scope, but Shepard just knew that she was pouting.

Before Shepard could say anything to Eliza, the green flag dropped. "Driver, go! Half speed!"

"Yes, Commander!" Leitzer pulled at a lever, and the _Mako_ surged forward.

"First obstacle coming up," Shepard said. "Turn right, eighteen degrees, on my mark."

"Ready!"

"Mark!"

Everyone leaned back as the _Mako_ began climbing the first obstacle, a short rise; while it wouldn't normally be much of a challenge for either tank, whoever had designed the course had decided to make the center of the rise a sheer surface, making it nearly impossible to cross. The secret was to move in at an angle.

"Stop here!" Shepard ordered. "Gunner, target the spider, turret cannon. Fire when ready."

"Loading cannon!" Eliza scrambled to put the iron ball and powder cartridge into the rear breech of the turret. "Aiming! Brace for recoil!"

Shepard and Leitzer covered their ears as Eliza prepared to fire. While some insulation had been included to reduce noise, the sound of any of the weapons going off was going to be very, very loud.

The tank shook briefly, and the crew took a second to reorient themselves.

"Status of the target?" Shepard asked.

"It's a hit!" Eliza cheered. "It was a little off-center, but most of the spider's head was blown off!"

"Great work," Shepard said. "Leitzer, turn twenty-nine degrees left, take us down the hill and towards that bunch of Goblins. Eliza, prepare the Repeaters."

As the tank rumbled towards the next target, Shepard caught a glimpse of Rissenbaum's tank through her scope. It was a little slower than the _Mako_ , but it had still managed to get over the hill and destroy its own target with its main cannon.

"Target in range, Commander!" Eliza reported.

Shepard focused on the wooden cutout of a small horde of Goblins. The sloppy painting created a crude, almost hilarious caricature of the vicious little monsters, but it served its task as a target.

"Prepare for sweeping barrage," Shepard said. "Eight-second burst, starting from the left side."

"Repeaters loaded!"

"Fire!"

The _Mako_ shuddered as dozens of rounds swept through the cutout, reducing it to splinters and chewing up the ground behind it. The Repeaters hadn't even stopped spinning before the tank was moving again.

Adding in the Heavy Repeaters had been a challenge, but a welcome one. Making an option for either gun to fire separately or have both fire simultaneously had been Eliza's idea, and Shepard had been the one to implement it. The best part about the secondary turret weapons, however, was that they were modular—or, rather, the full production models would be; the _Mako_ was just the prototype. Other than the Heavy Repeaters, Shepard had also designed the tank to use her flamethrowers or grenade launchers that some Outriders used, albeit modified by Shepard.

"Distance to goal: about three hundred meters," Shepard announced. "Roll past that block of Orcs, we'll get the target after that. Driver, sand trap, hard right on my mark… Mark!"

"We're not going to fire?" Leitzer asked, even as he pulled and pushed at various levers, then turned the _Mako_ to swerve—ungracefully—around a patch of sand.

"Rissenbaum will be right behind that one," Shepard said. "I won't risk disqualification because we wanted an extra point."

"She's right," Eliza said. "Besides, that ass missed his second target, so we're in the—what is he _doing_!?"

Shepard turned her scope to see the older Steam Tank make a sharp left turn. To the outside observer, it appeared that Rissenbaum was targeting another cutout; to the crew of the _Mako_ , it looked like the older model was waiting for its competition to cross into its sights.

"Full stop, now!" Shepard yelled, then braced as Leitzer brought the _Mako_ to a sudden halt, just before the other Steam Tank fired; the shot that passed by was so close that Shepard thought she could have reached out and touched it. "Everyone all right?"

"I'm fine," Leitzer said.

"I hit my head," Eliza reported, and her hand went to her face. "I'm bleeding, but I don't think it's that bad."

"Let me see," Shepard ordered. "Leitzer, get us moving again, full speed this time!"

The normally calm Leitzer allowed a grin to cross his features for a moment, then gunned the engine. The boiler roared, and the _Mako_ took off at a speed that belied her bulk. While the tank was moving, Shepard took a look at Eliza. She had a small gash near her right temple, but the blood trickling down curved around her eye.

"You might get a scar," Shepard told her, "but you don't seem to have a concussion. Can you still—"

"Absolutely!" Eliza said fiercely. "Let's finish this!"

Shepard grinned. "Good girl, now get ready to fire. If Rissenbaum wants to scare us, we'll scare him. Leitzer, bring us around, forty degrees right! Eliza, load the big gun, target the Giant cutout."

Eliza's smile threatened to engulf her entire face as she opened up the main cannon's breech. Considering the weight of the ammunition, the main gun would normally be loaded by both the gunner and the engineer, but without the latter, Shepard stepped in to help. Thanks to her enhanced strength, the cannon was loaded in record time.

"We have a clear shot," Eliza reported, once she peered through her scope. "Permission to fire?"

"Negative," Shepard said, keeping an eye on Rissenbaum's tank as it moved. "I want that son of a bitch to see this. Hold… hold…" Shepard grinned savagely. "Now!"

While the _Mako_ 's other weapons had caused the tank to vibrate and shake, the main cannon had enough strength to send it back several feet, and left the crew with ringing ears. The cannonball raced through the air, missing the prow of Rissenbaum's tank by mere inches, and collided with the Giant cutout.

Specifically, the shot connected with the Giant's nether regions. Wooden cutout or not, nearly every man in the audience winced, though Leitdorf cackled and nearly fell over in his seat.

"Well, _that_ was fun," Shepard said happily, then laughed when she saw Rissenbaum actually stick his head out of the hatch of his tank to inspect it. "Now that he's distracted—Leitzer!"

"Yes, Commander?"

"Turn us back towards that bell. We've got one little wall to get past, and then we win!"

"What course should I take to get us around the wall?" Leitzer asked.

"Screw getting around," Shepard said, then leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "Go straight through that sucker."

"Full speed, Commander?"

"Absolutely." Shepard spared one more glance at Rissenbaum, then laughed as the _Mako_ picked up speed once more.

When creating the engine for the tank, there had been times where even Shepard had been worried about overheating the system. There was only so much she could do with the level of technology she had available. However, she realized that, unlike back in her universe, there was a way to cheat limitations.

Most engineers and Wizards tended not to get along when it came to their respective fields. However, the exception to that was often the Wizards of the Gold Order, and Shepard had paid several of them quite well to enhance her tank. They had offered plenty of ways to make the machine better, but Shepard only had two requests.

First, that they give the tank protection against harmful magic; while the tank's armor was proof against all but the most powerful of physical attacks, Shepard had a hunch that magic would be a serious threat. Though the Wizards had been unable to make the tank _immune_ to magical attacks, they were able to give it a level of resistance, which was better than nothing.

The second request had been absolutely vital. Shepard had tasked the Wizards with making the pipes and the physical components powered by steam to be immune to heat. While the steam itself would still be hot and pressurized, the cooling enchantments ensured that nothing would be warped and weakened by it. The inside of the tank was still hot, but with most of the crew closer to the front, it was bearable.

Even if the heat had been absolutely terrible, no one in the _Mako_ would have minded as the tank crashed through the brick wall in front of it. Eliza and Leitzer both broke out in cheers as the _Mako_ came to a stop next to the bell, but Shepard had one more surprise for her apprentices.

"All right, you two are coming out with me," she said. "We're all ringing that bell together."

That made both engineers freeze. "But, General, you said I wouldn't have to be seen by anyone!" Eliza protested.

"We're still in the tank, it's Commander," Shepard reminded her cheerfully. "And this is _our_ tank, it was _our_ challenge, and it's _our_ win, so get your asses out there!"

"But I'm a mess!" Eliza wailed.

Shepard couldn't disagree. All three of them were sticky with sweat, Leitzer's hands were scraped and blistered after gripping the levers of the tank so tightly, and half of Eliza's face was covered in blood.

But Shepard had one more card to play. "Consider this your graduation ceremony."

Leitzer blinked. "Come again?"

Shepard grabbed both of her apprentices in a group hug. "You two proved yourselves over and over when we made the _Mako_. It won't be official until we get back, but unofficially, consider yourselves full-fledged Master Engineers!"

Leitzer and Eliza stared at Shepard, then each other; finally, they both grinned and raced for the hatch. Shepard was right behind them; the air was dry and smelled like gunpowder and industry, but she breathed deeply anyway.

To her, it was the smell of victory.

"Come on, General!" Eliza was bouncing by the bell. "And we're not in the tank, so we can call you that again!"

"Getting cheeky already?" Shepard asked as she joined them.

Eliza only grinned. "I learned from the best."

Leitzer nodded sagely. "Yes, I am pretty great, aren't I?"

Shepard laughed. "All right, kids, let's ring this bell so that Rissenbaum knows who won."

The bell chimed loudly; it must have been enchanted, because it could be heard over the roars of the older Steam Tank's engine. Rissenbaum took one look at the _Mako_ 's triumphant crew and stomped off.

The same herald from before rushed out. "The winner is General Alexia Shepard!"

Shepard and her crew turned to the audience; many of them were on their feet and cheering wildly. Leitdorf was standing on his chair and waving his hat over his head; Karl Franz and Emmanuelle were more reserved in their applause, but Shepard could see just how pleased the latter was.

"All right, guys," Shepard said, "let's get cleaned up. I'm sure there'll be a party later!"

…

It turned out that Shepard was right. The Emperor had pulled together a party the next night to celebrate 'a momentous advancement in the Empire's protection', which was mostly an excuse for the engineers to pick Shepard's brain about the tank, and for Karl Franz to hold a meeting with Emmanuelle and Leitdorf. To Shepard's pleasant surprise, it wasn't just her that was quizzed about the tank; both Leitzer and Eliza attracted a lot of attention. Leitzer handled it fairly well, but Eliza, normally very shy when around people she didn't know, ended up hiding behind Shepard for most of the party.

One thing that the Emperor made sure to ask was how long it would take to make more of the new tanks. Shepard had told him that the construction was the easy part; without each tank having to be a work of art and instead assembled in pieces, it would take an average of three weeks, at the most, to build one. The hard part was training a crew. Shepard's conservative estimate was that it would take several months of hard study and practice for a tank crew to be effective; maybe longer if there was a shortage of skilled engineers. Still, she told Karl Franz that she would like to see at least a handful of tanks ready for every province before the year was out. The Altdorf engineers had jumped at the chance to build the tanks, and the Emperor had joked that it was unlikely that many soldiers would pass up the chance to ride into battle inside a moving fortress.

Before that night was over, Shepard had her last encounter with Rissenbaum. As annoying as he had been, he was also a man of his word; he made a public apology, and a large sum of money went into Shepard's war chest. After that, Rissenbaum retreated into his own workshop and rarely came out again.

The next day, most of Shepard's retinue was preparing to return to Nuln, but Shepard was called by the Emperor for one last issue to handle.

…

The Imperial Zoo was unlike any zoo Shepard had seen back home. Everything was much bigger, for one thing, and the animals present made elephants, lions, and giraffes look boring in comparison.

"Is that a _Dragon_?" Shepard asked, pointing at the scaly monster like an excited child.

Karl Franz nodded. "Indeed. It's the only one of its kind to serve the Empire. I would advise against trying to pet it, though, unless you're not feeling attached to your arm. Or the rest of you, for that matter."

"Got it, no feeding the animals." Shepard's grin remained in place. "But still, you have a Dragon!"

The Emperor gave her an odd look. "I was under the impression that you hated all rideable creatures."

"No, I just hate horses." Shepard scowled for a moment. "Because they're evil things and they should die." The smile returned. "Everything else if fine, though. Dragons are awesome, and I like those Demigryphs that some knights ride."

"What about a Pegasus?"

"Nope! I don't care if it's a horse with wings, it's still a horse." A shadow fell over them, and Shepard looked up. "Griffons are also great."

Karl Franz followed her gaze and smiled. Circling above them, keeping a protective eye on his master, was Deathclaw, the Emperor's personal Griffon. With the head, wings and talons of an eagle for his front, and the powerful legs and tail of a tiger for his back—albeit much bigger than either of those two animals—Deathclaw was the fiercest of his kind. Karl Franz had raised him from an egg, and the two had fought many battles together.

"I agree," he said. "Griffons are some of the most majestic beasts in our world."

Shepard glanced at him. "I know he flies around a lot, but aren't you worried that he'll, I don't know, swoop down and eat someone?"

Karl Franz shrugged. "Why would he do that? He knows that there is plenty of meat waiting for him in his pen, and unlike the people of Altdorf, it won't run away."

Shepard blanched. "If you say so. Anyway, why did you ask me to join you here? Don't get me wrong, this is the best zoo I've ever been to, but I'm still confused."

"I have something for you," the Emperor said, walking towards a series of large cages. "You have become a capable leader, General, one that many people look up to. As much as it bothers me, I know that a leader must be seen by his—or her—men." He pushed open the door to one cage. "I believe that you will be even more inspiring while atop this."

Shepard stepped into the cage and froze; standing at the far end, restrained by thick ropes and guarded by large men with halberds, was a Griffon. Like Deathclaw, it was huge, easily the height of a man at the shoulder, and it was fully capable of staring down at whoever was unlucky enough to be in front of it. It had a different coloration than the Emperor's Griffon; its feathers were mostly grey, with jagged black bands around its neck and across the length of its wings, while its cat half was black, like a panther. Its eyes were yellow, and the stare it leveled at Shepard was both fierce and curious.

Shepard was a woman who found beauty in the workings of machinery, the mathematical perfection of architecture, and the gleam of polished metal. She had never been one for nature. However, to her, that Griffon was the most beautiful animal she had ever seen.

"You're… giving me a Griffon?" she whispered. A small part of her figured that she was getting this magnificent beast because of what Emmanuelle had done; the Emperor needed to show that he supported a rising star like Shepard just as much as the Elector Countess.

"Consider it a reward for your efforts in helping the Empire," Karl Franz said. "Of course, you must prove to the Griffon that you are worthy to ride him. If you lack the will to control him, he will not let you on his back. His pride will not allow it."

Shepard took a moment to let her awe fade away. She knew that Griffons were dangerous creatures, even when raised in captivity; if she wanted to have this one on her side, she would have to show him that she was just as dangerous.

"What do I have to do?" she asked.

"Show him that you do not fear him," Karl Franz said. "If he rears up, it means that he does not accept you. If that happens, run through the door. However, if he bows his head, jump onto his back immediately."

"Got it."

"Good luck, General." With that, the Emperor stepped out of the cage. The guards chopped away the ropes and retreated as well.

The Griffon extended his wings and shrieked, his cry echoing across the Imperial Zoo. He then marched over to Shepard and flapped his wings, buffeting her with gusts of air.

For her part, Shepard didn't even blink. She had faced down everything from common thugs to the end of the world, and that was just in her galaxy. In this one, she had fought against Daemons, monsters, and the undead; as beautiful as he was, Shepard wasn't going to let a bird-cat beat her in a contest of wills.

Beyond the willpower that had gotten her into the N7 program, Shepard had another source of determination: David. She would wrestle a Giant if it meant protecting her son. Against the will of a soldier and a mother, the Griffon had no chance.

"Good boy," Shepard said as the Griffon bowed his head. "I'm going to get on your back now. If you try to throw me off, I'm going to be very upset with you."

To her surprise, the Griffon made a low chirping noise, as if he understood what she said and agreed to her terms. Shepard then grabbed his feathers and heaved herself onto his back; the Griffon squawked, but otherwise made no protest.

Shepard ran a hand down the feathers on his neck; she marveled at the softness, but also the iron-hard muscles underneath. For a moment, she almost felt like she was looking at a reflection of herself. Then the Griffon turned his head to look at her, and she noticed an old scar trailing down one side of his face.

 _Maybe it's not me I'm looking at,_ she thought, _maybe it's Garrus?_

"It seems that you are full of surprises, General," Karl Franz said as he reentered. "Most people would at least take a step back, but you showed no fear at all. I am impressed."

Shepard shook her head free of distractions and smiled down at the Emperor. "Oh, I feel fear, it's just never for myself. I've been told that I'm too selfless for my own good."

"Then it seems that you and this Griffon are perfectly matched." He gestured to the Griffon's face. "I'm told that he earned that scar when protecting another of his clutch when an older Griffon accidentally entered the nest. It was a miracle that he survived."

Shepard patted the Griffon's shoulder. "Then I guess we'll have to make sure to take care of each other. How does that sound, buddy? I'll keep you safe, if you do the same for me." The Griffon snorted. "I'll take that as a yes. Sir, does he have a name?"

"Ah, yes." Karl Franz smiled. "The handlers have taken to calling him Stormwing."

Shepard blinked, then looked at the bands of black feathers and saw that they _did_ kind of look like lightning bolts.

"All right then, Stormwing it is." Shepard would later swear that the Griffon was smiling at her. "Let's go save the day, shall we?"

 **And there we go, guys! Like I said, I'm sorry it took so long to update, but at least you got a much longer chapter than usual! Also, it took me about a week to write the thing, so my actual drive for this story is still going strong!**

 **So, first off: Shepard made a tank. There will be more, because industry and tanks go really well together. Also, I have checked just about every source out there, and I cannot find out how many people actually crew the old Steam Tank. Judging by the size of the thing, however, it can't be more than two people.**

 **Second: Shepard has a Griffon. Say hello to Stormwing, everyone! He's going to be all kinds of fun.**

 **Third: Shepard is not—I repeat,** _ **not**_ **—going to have a relationship with Emmanuelle. Even if Shepard swung that way—and in this story, she doesn't—Emmanuelle has already shown that she is using Shepard as a way to both increase her own fame and secure her own power. Shepard was just messing with her and showing that she won't just roll over. Besides, there is no evidence to suggest that Emmanuelle is into the fairer sex, other than the fact that many men have tried to seduce her, only to get the crap kicked out of them. At best, the two of them will be friends, but only after Shepard gets over her annoyance with the woman.**

 **As always, send me a PM if you have any questions.**

 **Next Chapter: The hunt resumes! A city burns, and Shepard must plunge into the middle of an ancient war to find the next shard.**

 **Sometimes, Master Engineers just can't resist the appeal of the really big Muffins.**


	21. Pride before the Fall, Part 1

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. YOU KNOW THAT AWKWARD FEELING YOU GET WHEN YOU SEE PEOPLE FROM THE SAME FAMILY FIGHTING? YEAH, THIS IS GOING TO BE A LOT WORSE.**

 **Huh, would you look at that? I updated a story more than once in a single week! I have no idea if this will continue, but I'm happy right now!**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 21

Pride before the Fall, Part 1

" _Don't get me started on Elves. The ones you have to fight are some of the most mean-spirited sons of bitches I've ever met. What's that? Yeah, I know, the ones that aren't trying to kill you can be good allies, but do they have to be such dicks about it?"—General Alexia Shepard_

…

Shepard closed her eyes and let the wind whip past her, carrying with it any worries she had. Below her, Stormwing cried out in joy as he flapped his wings. For Shepard, flying had quickly become one of her favorite experiences; back home, she had flown plenty of times, but she had always been inside of a ship or a shuttle, and never really had a chance to enjoy the wind on her face. With Stormwing, she felt _free_.

Even better, Shepard wasn't uncomfortable on the back of a Griffon, like she was with horses. She wasn't sure why, but she never got sore while riding Stormwing; if anything, she felt refreshed after a long ride.

Finally, she opened her eyes; she glanced at the sun and realized that it was getting late. "All right, buddy, time to go back."

She nudged Stormwing back towards Nuln with her knee, and though the Griffon likely understood that more than her words, he made an almost sulking squawk.

"Don't argue, featherbrain, break's over." Shepard leaned forward and patted his head. "Come on, now, back to David."

At the mention of the infant, Stormwing immediately wheeled around and headed back to Nuln. After two months of training, coupled with Stormwing's own protective nature, the Griffon was more attached to David than anyone, save Shepard, and possibly Eliza. In fact, he sometimes snapped at the air near the guards assigned to David if Stormwing thought they weren't doing their jobs properly… which was most of the time, if the constant snapping was any indication.

When they landed near Stormwing's pen—placed next to Shepard's primary factory and workshop—curious civilians scattered, trying to stay away from the Griffon that had already earned a reputation as a particularly bad-tempered beast, unless Shepard was there to calm him down.

"Okay, let's go check on David, and then you get to take a nap," Shepard said as she hopped to the ground. Stormwing cawed and trotted after her, squeezing his bulk through the doors of the factory.

"Hello, General!" Eliza called out, waving cheerfully. "Did you have a nice flight?"

Shepard grinned, her mood so good that she hugged her former apprentice for a moment. "So far, there hasn't been a flight that _wasn't_ nice. How's David?"

Eliza stepped back and adjusted her glasses while fighting a blush. "He just woke up, actually. I think he wants you; he was getting fussy."

"I'd better get him before he starts crying; he might disturb Leitzer's work." Across the room, Leitzer idly waved over his shoulder, not looking up from the diagram he was examining. "Any messages for me while I was out?"

Eliza followed after Shepard as she headed for the room where David was. "Not specifically, though Lieutenant Locke was here for a few minutes. I think he just wanted to talk."

Shepard frowned. "He knew I was out, why did he come here?"

Eliza blushed again. "Actually, he wanted to talk to _me_. He, um…"

"Did he flirt with you?" Shepard wasn't sure if she should be mad at Locke—Eliza was not some tavern girl for him to have a fling with!—or happy that Eliza was getting some attention.

"He did," Eliza said. "But… I didn't mind. No one's ever done that to me before."

 _Okay, so she's not upset, that's good._ Shepard opened the door and saw David sitting up in his crib. "Hey, little man, did you miss me?"

David's eyes lit up as he saw his mother and he crawled towards the side of the crib. "Ah! Ah!"

"I gotcha, kid." Shepard picked him up and cradled him in her arms. "Did you have a good time with Eliza? Was she a good babysitter?" David gurgled happily. "I'll take that as a yes."

Eliza beamed, even as she played along. "Why, thank you, David; you were a joy to take care of." She turned to Shepard. "He's so adorable."

"Of course he is," Shepard said, "he's _my_ son; between me and Felix, he was gonna be a good-looking kid from day one." Then she smiled wickedly. "Speaking of looking good, that's probably why Locke decided to flirt with you."

Eliza's face went very red. "Wha—"

"Don't deny it," Shepard said, still grinning. "You've got it going _on_ , girl."

While Eliza normally wore heavy work clothes that hid her figure, there had been times that Shepard had seen her in more flattering attire. Despite being barely five feet tall, Eliza had a bust to rival Shepard's, and an hourglass figure to go with it. Shepard might not have been into women, but she could admit that Eliza was _hot_.

A loud squawk from outside cut into the teasing, and Shepard sighed. "Sometimes I think Stormwing is more attached to David than I am." She stepped out of the room and gave the Griffon an annoyed glare. "All right, here he is, are you happy now?"

Stormwing lowered his head to look closer at David. Shepard could hear Eliza inhale sharply, still unused to the Griffon being so close to the baby; David, however, squealed happily and reached out to pat Stormwing's beak. It always amazed Shepard at how still Stormwing became when that happened.

"Okay, you've seen him." Shepard held David in one arm and pointed to the door with the other. "Back to your pen, you big worrywart."

Stormwing huffed, then trotted outside, where a freshly slaughtered cow would no doubt be waiting for him.

"I'll never understand how you got him to be so gentle with David," Eliza said, staring at Shepard in wonder. "He practically hates everyone but you two, he ignores Leitzer, and I think he just tolerates me."

"Maybe Locke isn't the only one who thinks you're cute," Shepard teased.

Eliza immediately went red-faced. "Please stop it," she muttered.

"Fine, but only for today. I make no promises about the future." Shepard gently elbowed her to get her to look up. "Seriously, though, if Locke does anything that you don't like, tell me; I'll set him straight."

Eliza nodded, then hesitated. "What if he only does things I like?"

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Then I'd better get an invitation to the wedding."

Eliza blinked in shock. She was only nineteen, nearly twenty, the age where most women in the Empire were expected to be married and have their first child on the way. When thinking about Eliza's age, Shepard was reminded of her own; she was more than fifteen years older than Eliza, and she wondered how many more years it would take before she ever made it home.

With David, of course. Maybe she would also take Eliza, if it was possible and she wanted to go with her; the poor girl might be heartbroken if Shepard left her behind, and she was smart enough to grasp the technology of Shepard's galaxy.

When Eliza started blushing again, Shepard finally relented. "Fine, I'll stop. Anyway, is anything new with you? You seemed really worried yesterday."

Eliza sighed in relief at the change in topic. "I got a letter from my mother. She moved to Marienburg a few weeks ago." Shepard's eyebrows nearly reached her hairline; Marienburg had declared its independence from the Empire decades ago, and it was a ruthless den of thieves and pirates. "I know, it's dangerous, but she's living with some distant relative she talked about sometimes. She's happy, and according to her letter, she's safe."

"I guess that's okay, then," Shepard said. She was a little annoyed at Marienburg, if she was being honest; the people there reminded her of the colonists who had distanced themselves from the Alliance, only to get devastated by the Collectors. She just hoped that nothing similar happened to Marienburg, if only for Eliza's sake; the girl loved her mother dearly, sending her most of her wages to help support her. Then again, if her mother was secure, maybe she could start saving her money and live somewhere nicer in Nuln.

"Ah!" Shepard looked down at David; he was glancing between Eliza and his mother, as if he was trying to figure out what they were saying.

"Nothing to worry about, kid," Shepard said, then gently tapped his nose. "This is stuff for when you're older."

Eliza smiled widely at the baby, then turned back to Shepard. "Do you think he really understands us?"

"Nah, not really," Shepard said. "I think he can understand our moods, though; he'll understand the words when he's older."

Eliza crossed her arms. "So, does that mean that men trade one for the other as they get older?"

Leitzer actually sat up from his desk at that. "Hey!"

Shepard stared at Eliza; it wasn't often that she broke out the snark, but when she did, it could cut deep. For her part, Eliza only smiled sweetly at her fellow engineer, holding it until Leitzer went back to his work with a grumble.

"Come on," Shepard said, nudging Eliza again. "Let's get some lunch, and then we'll check in with the boys." She grinned. "Don't worry, I'll keep you safe from Locke… unless you don't want me to. If that's the case, put a sock in front of the door or something, so that no one barges in."

Eliza's face went red.

…

A few hours later, Shepard and Eliza arrived at the barracks; David had been dropped off at home, looked after by Gertrude, a nanny that Emmanuelle had recommended, and Shepard _and_ Eliza had vetted before hiring.

"Welcome back, General," Richter said, saluting Shepard, then nodding at Eliza. "Master Engineer Schwarzer."

Shepard returned the salute, while Eliza beamed at the use of her title.

"Anything to report?" Shepard asked as Richter led them inside.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Richter said. "Father Michael is leading a sermon at the moment, so I don't think he'll make it to the meeting."

Shepard frowned. "It's not the usual time for prayers, is it?" Just because Shepard wasn't fond of religion didn't mean she didn't keep track of her officers' habits and schedules.

"It isn't," Richter confirmed. "According to Father Michael, though, he felt a need to pray."

"And I was having such a nice day, too," Shepard sighed. "Now I've got a bad feeling about all this."

"I agree." Richter leaned in close to whisper in her ear. "Should I start getting the troops ready for battle?"

"I kind of want to, but I'd hate to get everyone worked up over a false alarm." Shepard spotted Eliza staring. "What's wrong?"

Eliza pointed behind her. "General, I don't think it's a false alarm."

Shepard followed Eliza's arm and saw Gettmann striding through the doors of the barracks.

"Oh, damn it all…"

Gettmann walked up to them and bowed his head in greeting. "General Shepard. The next shard has fallen."

…

Shortly after Gettmann's arrival, the army was in a state of controlled chaos, as sergeants rushed to get their men ready to march, and probably fight. While the lower-ranked officers handled that, Shepard had gathered her senior officers to press Gettmann for whatever details he had.

"Speed will be of the utmost importance," Gettmann said gravely. "In my visions, I have seen a great city burn, trapped between the jaws of light and darkness."

"Don't say Chaos." Richter was almost pleading. " _Please_ don't say we're fighting Chaos again."

"No, I did not sense the hand of the Dark Gods," Gettmann said, to the relief of everyone else. "However, there is great power at work; while one force seeks the power of the shard, the other seeks to keep it from the other's hands, and will do anything to ensure success."

"Where are we going?" Shepard asked, fingers drumming restlessly on the table.

Gettmann glanced down at the map before them. "It took some time, but my fellow Celestial Wizards were able to narrow the area to around here." He pointed at the western edge of the Empire's borders.

Gregor frowned. "The only large city that I am aware of in that area is Marienburg."

"That is the most likely place to go," Gettmann said, and Shepard heard a sharp intake of breath from Eliza, who was hanging back.

Shepard made her decision. "Prepare the troops to move out. We'll pass by Altdorf along the way, we can send a message as we go." She looked at her officers, conviction shining in her eyes. "Imperial or not, a city full of people is in danger, and I am not about to let a bunch of innocents get killed if I can help it."

"Gallantly said, General," Gregor said. "I shall ensure that the Knights of Ironrock are ready to ride."

"And I will have the rest of the cavalry prepared within the hour," Locke promised.

"Sergeant Richter and I will have the rest of the men ready to march soon," Michael said; next to him, Richter nodded.

"My fellow Wizards will stay with their assigned groups," Parral said quietly.

"And, of course, I will be joining you," Gettmann said.

"Thank you," Shepard said, then stood up straight. "Dismissed."

Once the officers were gone, Eliza hesitantly stepped forward. "General?"

"What is it, Eliza?" Shepard thought she already knew, but she wanted to make sure.

"Please, let me come with you for this battle!" Eliza's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "My mother just moved to Marienburg, and I don't know if—"

"Of course you're coming with me," Shepard interrupted gently, then put her hands on Eliza's shoulders. "I… I never had a chance to save my parents. I don't want you to feel like I did."

Eliza nodded and grabbed Shepard in a quick hug. "Thank you, General!"

"Let me be clear, however." Shepard's voice was stern. "I am _not_ letting you rush into a city that's being attacked. You will stay with the artillery during the battle, and you will _only_ move up when I say that it's safe for you to do so. Am I understood?"

"Yes, ma'am." Eliza looked up at her. "What about David? I know that I'm usually the one to take care of him, but—"

"Gertrude will watch over him until we come back," Shepard said. "You have done so much for my son, Eliza; now it's my turn to help your family." Eliza nodded shakily. "Now get going, you; stick with the artillery and supply wagons until I call for you."

Eliza nodded again and dashed out. As she did, Shepard made two promises to herself. First, that she would do all she could to help Eliza find her family; second, that if the worst should happen, that she would be there for the girl. She owed Eliza that much.

…

"Fucking politics!" Shepard raged as she flew above her army on Stormwing's back. "This is the biggest piece of bullshit I've ever heard! It's the crap with the colonies all over again!"

It had taken half a day for the army to pass by Altdorf, and as she had planned, Shepard had sent a message to the Emperor. Within that message was a brief description of what she was planning to do, and a request for additional Imperial reinforcements. Sadly, while Shepard's mission had been approved, the Empire would not send any forces to assist her, since Marienburg had made it very clear that it wanted nothing to do with the Empire. There was no obligation to help, since there was no treaty of alliance with the city, unlike with the Dwarfs. The best the Emperor could do was increase the military presence _near_ Marienburg, in case whatever was endangering the city spread to the rest of the Empire.

Shepard was incensed by this, but at the same time, she understood. Marienburg had spent its entire time of being independent telling the Empire to go jump in a lake, and they hadn't asked for help. Maybe if they _did_ request aid, the Empire would oblige, but to do so would likely mean Marienburg's annexation back into the Empire.

Officially, Shepard's mission was to enter the city, recover the shard, and return to the Empire as quickly as possible. However, nothing in Shepard's orders said that she _couldn't_ fight whoever was attacking the city during the mission.

The idea of exploiting that loophole was the only reason she only grumbled to herself.

A loud cry from Stormwing dragged Shepard out of her brooding; she looked down at the ground and saw that the army was coming to a halt. It was getting late, and it was dangerous for the troops to march in the dark.

"All right, let's land," she said, and directed Stormwing towards the ground.

When the Griffon landed, it was with slightly less grace than usual. Since they would be going into combat at any time—crossing the Empire was often filled with danger, even before reaching an objective—both Shepard and Stormwing were in armor. While Shepard's hadn't changed, Stormwing was one of the few exceptions to Shepard's dislike of ornamentation. Stormwing had a large plate of armor across his chest, molded into the image of a skull; similar plates of smaller size were strapped to his back legs and the top of his head. He had more armor than a typical Griffon, but Stormwing had proven strong enough—or just mean enough—to bear it.

"Did you see anything from the air, General?" Locke asked as he walked up to Shepard; with Stormwing, Shepard had the unusual option of scouting ahead of the rest of the army.

"Nothing yet," Shepard said, thinking back to the maps she'd studied. "I think we're about two more days away from Marienburg. I don't like it, but we may have to rest the day before we try entering the city. Hopefully, the people inside have held out that long."

"Marienburg has stood against everything the world has thrown at it so far," Locke said, just a tad bitterly. "I think it will hold out for a few days."

"I hope you're right," Shepard said. "But I've seen fortified positions overrun before, so let's not get cocky."

"Of course, General." Locke glanced off to the side and raised an eyebrow. "It seems that Stormwing's friends are back."

Shepard turned and sighed as she saw the handful of Demigryphs of the Ironrock Knights bounding up to Stormwing. When the Griffon had first been brought into the army, the Demigryphs had quickly been cowed by their larger and fiercer cousin. Now, though, they jumped around him and nipped at his talons, almost like puppies around a larger dog. Stormwing tolerated their actions, though he and Mortis, Gregor's mount, would sometimes screech at each other in a brief display of dominance.

Under normal circumstances, Shepard found the whole thing to be hilarious. With lives on the line and Eliza barely able to hold herself together, she didn't have time to appreciate it. Shepard slipped off a gauntlet and brought her fingers to her mouth; she blew a sharp whistle to catch Stormwing's attention, then pointed at the makeshift pen set next to her tent. Stormwing immediately flared his wings and roared at the Demigryphs, making them retreat back to their own stables.

"How did you manage to train him so well?" Locke asked.

"I didn't, actually," Shepard admitted. "Most of his commands were learned back at the Imperial Zoo, and he's trained to obey those commands whenever his rider gives them. I just earned his respect."

The only thing she couldn't figure out was why Stormwing was so protective of David. Her best guess was that Stormwing was so loyal to her, and thus, loyal of her 'hatchling'. Regardless of the reason, she was grateful for the extra protection for her son.

"Ah, good to know," Locke said; Shepard noticed that he was shuffling in place, and refusing to meet her eye.

"Lieutenant?" Shepard crossed her arms. "Is there something I should know?"

"Um, yes?" Locke shrugged. "I mean, I wanted to ask you something."

"Okay… what is it?"

"Would you happen to know, uh… where Miss Schwarzer is at the moment?"

Shepard blinked. "So that thing in the factory wasn't just a one-time flirt?"

It could have been the sunset, or the light from the campfires, but Shepard could have sworn that Locke blushed.

"At first, I thought it was," Locke admitted. "I saw her in something a little more flattering, and realized how beautiful she is, and… well, you know me."

"I do, which is why I'm having this conversation." Shepard leaned in so that she could speak quietly. "Look, whatever you two do is your business, not mine. So long as you are a gentleman, I won't say anything. _But_ ," and Shepard's voice was laced with warning, "if you do anything to hurt her, or do anything she doesn't want, I will be… upset. Am I clear?"

"Absolutely, General." There was a seriousness in Locke's eyes that Shepard rarely saw outside of combat.

"Good." Shepard decided to be just a little helpful. "She should be near the artillery, but if I were you, I wouldn't try anything romantic. Right now, she's worried sick about her family. If you want to be useful, she needs a friend, not a lover."

"Of course, General." Locke's roguish smile was back. "I shall lend her my shoulder to cry on after my duties tonight are complete."

"Just make sure that you aren't the one who makes her cry," Shepard warned, her hand resting on Unbak Urk for emphasis. "Remember, I know where you live."

As Locke left, Shepard pushed aside thoughts of being an overprotective sister-figure. She had her own work to do.

…

The march continued on. The troops were silent and grim, but they were also confident; they had faith in each other, most of them veterans of at least one of their previous campaigns, they had the best equipment in the Empire, and most importantly, they had faith in Shepard. To them, she was a beacon of hope and courage. The veterans especially would follow her to the end of the world; her determination was their determination, her courage was their courage, and when Marienburg came into view, her fury was their fury.

"Son of a _bitch_ ," Shepard hissed angrily as she watched pillars of smoke rise from the burning city. "Locke!"

The Lieutenant rode up to her, craning his neck to look up at her. "Yes, General?"

"Get down there with some men and find out what we're up against." Shepard didn't take her eyes off of Marienburg. "And hurry. The more time we waste, the more people die… and whoever is responsible for this keeps breathing."

"As you command, General." Locke glanced over his shoulder briefly to see Eliza; the poor girl had fallen to her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks. There was still a chance that her family was still alive, but she had been holding onto the hope that they would arrive before the enemy.

Over the last few days, Locke had done all he could to put a smile on Eliza's face. He played the fool if he had to, and listened to whatever she worried about. Most of it was about her family, particularly her mother. It was after the second night that Locke learned something about Eliza.

She _cared_ about people. It was the driving force behind everything she did. She was so devoted to Shepard because she cared about her; she took care of David so enthusiastically because she cared about him. She became an engineer because she had cared about her father, and she continued to help in Shepard's factories because she cared about the people of the Empire.

And now, one of the people she cared so much about was caught in the middle of a war, and nothing, not her intelligence, nor her compassion, would help. Yet she still traveled with the army, despite knowing that there was nothing she could do.

Eliza had never picked up a sword in her life, nor had she ever fought in a battle, and yet, to Locke, she was one of the bravest people he had ever known, just for having the courage to come this far.

Determined not to fail, either Shepard or Eliza, Locke urged his horse into a gallop, shouting for his riders to join him. He had a mission to accomplish.

…

"Get the men ready," Shepard ordered to the nearest sergeants, who would spread the word. "Gregor, have your knights move to the right flank, they'll have a clear lane to charge down without risking hitting the infantry." Gregor wordlessly saluted with his war-pick and rode off. "Richter, Michael, I want you two at the front of the footsloggers; if you see the enemy, hit 'em hard." Michael bowed his head and Richter saluted before rushing away. "Eliza." The young woman didn't react. "Eliza!"

With a start, Eliza looked up at Shepard. "Y-yes, General?"

Shepard felt bad, but now was not the time to comfort the girl, not if there was a chance to save lives. "I need you to head back now. Make sure the _Mako_ is ready for combat."

After its successful test, Shepard had made a few tiny alterations, mostly regarding maintenance, for the prototype tank, promoting it from just a prototype to a battle-ready war machine. Eager and hardworking troops now manned it, and the _Mako_ had had no trouble keeping up with the rest of the army. Today, however, would be its first test in real combat.

Eliza nodded shakily. "Yes, General."

Shepard sighed; at least now Eliza had something to do. She wished she could say the same about herself; her soldiers knew what to do, but the army would only advance on Marienburg once Shepard had a better idea of what they were facing. And that meant waiting for Locke's return.

"I hate waiting," she muttered.

…

The scent of smoke filled Locke's nose, and the sound of screams and far-off combat filled his ears as he and his men rode towards Marienburg's crumbling walls. It amazed Locke to see the fortifications of the city, which had long held back the Empire's attempts to reclaim it, brought down in a matter of days.

He didn't let it show on his face, lest he demoralize his men, but the thought of fighting whoever did this scared him. He would, of course, fight this enemy with all his strength, but that didn't mean he was a fool; he intended to live a long life, with many more glories to earn.

"Lieutenant," one of his Pistoliers, a man who had recently joined from the ranks of Handgunners, said quietly, "should we enter the city?"

Locke drummed his fingers against the butt of his pistol as he thought about it. "We cannot learn anything from outside the walls," he decided. "We will go deeper into the city until we see someone, either the citizens or whoever is attacking them."

"Should we engage?" another Pistolier asked.

"Only if they block our escape," Locke said. "We cannot report back to General Shepard if we are delayed."

The dozen riders nodded and gripped their reins tighter. Locke led them to a hole in the wall that was large enough for the horses to fit through. As they climbed over the debris, Locke noticed how the stone seemed melted, and yet it was cool to the touch; magic, most likely, he decided.

The inside of the city was even worse than they had thought. What buildings weren't torn apart were either burning to the ground, or smeared with the blood of desecrated corpses. The only good thing Locke noticed about the destruction, what little comfort it was, was that it did not seem like anything that had to do with Chaos. While the death and pain made his stomach turn, he saw nothing that made him fear for his very soul. Still, he muttered a quick prayer to Sigmar before leading his men on.

"What was that!?" a Pistolier hissed, pointing his weapon at something on the group's right. Everyone else readied their guns, but saw nothing.

"Jumping at shadows?" another rider teased, albeit with a shaky voice.

"I _know_ I saw something," the other man growled. "I just couldn't make it out."

"If it's the enemy, then they are observing us," Locke said, trying his best to remain calm. "If it is a citizen, then they are staying away because they hate the Empire. Unless we are attacked, we must keep going."

It really was a shame about Marienburg, Locke reflected; if you took out the pirates and murderers and thieves, and the general hatred of the Empire, it might have been a nice city to visit.

"There it is again!" the first Pistolier said, a little louder this time. "I swear, something is watching us!"

"Steady, men," Locke murmured, "we cannot falter here."

"Yes, sir," the man said, then took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I—argh!"

Locke jerked back in his saddle as the man fell off his horse, an arrow lodged in his eye. A score of dark-garbed figures darted around the rubble and aimed weapons at them.

At first, Locke thought they were under attack by Human pirates, but they were too tall and moved too fluidly for a normal man. The armor they wore was like nothing he recognized; it was of exquisite craftsmanship, and covered with spikes. The crossbows they carried were also like nothing he had seen before.

Still, they carried mortal weapons, which typically meant that they could be _killed_ by mortal weapons.

"Return fire!" Locke shouted, drawing both of his pistols and firing at the attackers. To his private relief, when one of his shots hit, he was rewarded by a scream of pain, and one of the enemies fell back, clutching his shoulder.

The other Pistoliers opened fire as well, and two more enemies were hit; this time, they died. However, the crossbows used against them had greater range than their pistols, and the enemy quickly realized this. They pulled back and fired another volley; another of Locke's riders was sent tumbling to the blood-soaked ground, along with his horse.

"Sir!" another Pistolier shouted. "There's more coming from the flank!"

Locke glanced to the side to see a dozen more enemies; their armor was similar to the first group's, though these were armed with shields and spears. That was bad; Locke's cavalry was lightly armored, and would be skewered if they charged the spearmen. Even if they did, crossbow bolts would hit them in the back; if the cavalry tried to engage the crossbowmen, the spearmen would charge them from behind. At that point, Locke would have ordered a full retreat; unfortunately, the spearmen were between the riders and their exit.

 _So much for living to see greater glories,_ Locke thought tiredly, then reloaded his guns. "Fight, men of the Empire! Fight to the bitter end!"

They were dead, and they all knew it; with that knowledge, Locke and his riders threw everything they had into the fight. Five more crossbowmen died, along with three spearmen, but by then, only Locke and four of his men were left.

For Locke, time seemed to freeze as he met the eyes of a crossbowman; even with the distance between them, Locke could see the malice in his would-be killer's eyes as he pulled the trigger.

Just before Locke met his painful demise, however, a miracle occurred. A bright flash of light caused him to shield his eyes; when the light faded, all of the crossbowmen were dead. In fact, he could only identify them as having even been there by scorches on the ground and the odd crossbow or fragment of armor lying around. Standing just behind where they were, however, was a tall, thin man, wearing beautiful robes and light armor. In his hands was an ornate staff; Locke couldn't be sure if it was the staff that was radiating power, or the man.

A shout from the other side caught Locke's attention; another unit of cavalry was charging the spearmen from behind. Unlike Locke's cavalry, these knights were heavily armored, as were their horses; as they rode closer, Locke saw that the horses' armor was designed to look like a Dragon, and the riders' tall helms had Dragon-themed decorations as well.

The knights were led by another rider; while he didn't have anything related to Dragons on his armor or mount, neither were any less ornate. Locke had no talent for magic, but even he could tell that the man's armor was magical in nature, as was the large sword he swung into the enemy ranks.

Within seconds, the knights and their leader had crushed the spearmen. With them dead, Locke thought that the knights would slow down; instead, they readied their lances and began charging towards the Imperials.

Before Locke could say anything, the man with the staff rushed forward, shouting in words that Locke didn't understand. Whatever he said, it was enough for the knights and their leader, and they brought their charge to an abrupt halt. The two began talking to each other, and though Locke didn't know what they were saying, it was clear that they were arguing about something—likely what to do with the Imperials.

"Lieutenant," one of the surviving Pistoliers whispered, "what do we do?"

"Not much," Locke admitted; even if they wanted to run, the newcomers were now between them and the only exit they knew of.

After a few minutes, the argument ended. From the way that the man on horseback angrily gripped his sword, the Wizard—for what else could he be?—had won.

"Greetings," the Wizard said in flawless Reikspiel. "I apologize for my comrade's behavior. He believes you to be a threat. I have convinced him to stay his blade, at least until you explain your presence here, Imperial."

Locke blinked, then got off his horse. "I am Lieutenant Elias Locke, serving under General Alexia Shepard. I am afraid that I cannot speak of our mission, but considering that you saved our lives, might I assume that you are not our enemy?"

The Wizard glanced back at the other man. "For the moment, yes, and I will endeavor to keep it that way." He tilted his head. "Perhaps we might speak with your leader? I have an idea of what brings an army of the Empire here, and I would like to discuss the matter further."

Locke nodded. "I believe that can be arranged."

The man spoke to the knights in his language; all but the leader obeyed easily enough. That man pulled off his helm and scowled; he said something that appeared to amuse the Wizard. He then replied, and whatever he said seemed to startle the knight into silence.

It was as Locke and his remaining riders moved closer to the knights that Locke got a good look at the man before he put his helm on again. Specifically, he got a good look at his pointy ears.

 _Elves!_ He realized. _They're Elves!_

…

"General, the scouting party is returning," a soldier reported. "Only a few have come back, though they have a group of armed warriors behind them."

Shepard looked up from the map she was studying. "Are they being pursued?"

The soldier shook his head. "No, General; Lieutenant Locke claims that they are here under a flag of truce."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "All right, I'll go see what this is all about."

As Shepard moved, Stormwing cocked his head and squawked. Shepard merely lowered one hand towards the ground in a silent command to stay; if things got out of hand, she knew that Stormwing would come to her aid, command or no, though she had enough soldiers around her that the Griffon would likely only tear apart corpses. Still, she kept her weapons with her as she joined the scouting party.

"Lieutenant," she said in a neutral tone, "I see you've had an interesting day so far."

"Indeed, General." Locke was drained; the look on his face was one that Shepard had seen many times, either in other unit leaders back home, or on her own face when she looked in the mirror after a particularly bad mission. It was the look of someone who had lost most of the men they were supposed to lead.

"Get some rest," Shepard said, looking at the riders. "All of you. That's an order."

Locke nodded wearily, and led his surviving men to the makeshift stables. After they left, Shepard joined the newcomers, along with Richter, a dozen Greatswords, Michael, Parral, and Gettmann.

When Shepard saw that none of the riders, even the friendly-looking Wizard on a horse, looked like they were going to speak, she decided to go first.

"I am General Alexia Shepard," she said. "May I ask who you are, and what part you've played in the attack on Marienburg?"

The leader of the knights took off his helm; many of the Humans visibly reacted upon seeing that he was an Elf, but Shepard remained stoic behind her wolf-helm. She had read about Elves before, and though this was the first time she had ever met one in person, she was determined not to let it unbalance her.

"I am Prince Orzin, of Ulthuan," he said haughtily, eyes looking over Shepard critically. "I lead this force against my people's ancient enemies. It has nothing to do with you, Human."

"You're going to have to be more specific," Shepard replied, taking off her own helmet to meet his gaze. "What 'ancient enemy'? Also, since you're attacking a _Human_ city, one that sits on the Empire's borders, _and_ happens to be where my friend's family is living, I'd say it has more to do with us than you think."

"The ones you know as 'Dark Elves'." Orzin spat the words like they were poison. "They attacked the city, _we_ are here to stop them. If you care so much for you kind, you should be thanking us for fighting those—"

"Calm yourself, Prince Orzin," the Wizard said gently, guiding his horse next to Orzin's. "The Humans have more claim to this battle than we do, though I would like to know what brings them here."

Orzin seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, then bowed his head. "As you wish, my Lord."

The Wizard smiled at Shepard. "You'll have to forgive him, some of my people refuse to give yours the respect that is due."

Even though this Elf had only spoken a single sentence to her, Shepard decided that she liked him infinitely more than Orzin. One thing she couldn't decide on, however, was if the Wizard was speaking a little slowly because he wasn't used to Reikspiel, or if it was because he thought he had to; it _did_ sound like he was speaking to a child. For now, though, Shepard would give him the benefit of the doubt.

"I've dealt with worse," Shepard said. "May I ask who you are?"

"Of course." The Elf removed his ornate helm, letting his long hair flow freely. "My name is Teclis, and I believe that we can help each other."

 **I'm going to make myself very, very clear on something: I don't like Elves. It doesn't matter if they're High Elves, Wood Elves, or Dark Elves, they all piss me off in some way. At least the Wood Elves usually leave people alone unless they're stupid enough to go into their forest, but the other two have no such excuse!**

 **So, yeah, I won't exactly be bashing the Elves in this story, but I will admit to being biased. Towards the Dwarfs. Because the Dwarfs won the War of Vengeance, bitches! Suck it, you knife-eared, self-righteous, break-your-arm-jerking-yourself-off assholes! I mean, the Dwarfs aren't even in this arc, but that doesn't change how I feel!**

 ***ahem***

 **Sorry about that. But, yeah, High Elves are pretty arrogant bastards. Most of them consider Humans little more than barbarians, and are honestly worse than any Turian or Asari that Shepard has had to meet back home. Actually, now that I think about it, a lot of High Elves (and Elves in general) are like Javik, who see themselves as superior to everyone else.**

 **This is why I included Teclis. He is literally the** _ **only**_ **Elf that I respect. I mean, the guy gave Humans the knowledge needed to have Wizards as we know them. He founded the Colleges of Magic! He's one of those guys who gets that everyone needs to work together against the evil things out there! Also, unlike some other Elves (like his angsty Mary Sue brother), Teclis had to work to reach his level of power. I can respect that. Also, you might be wondering why I included some random OC prince instead of Teclis' brother, Tyrion. Aside from the fact that he annoys me at the best of times, I know what happens when both of them fight at the same time. This wouldn't even be a battle, and it would have been over by the time Shepard got there. I mean, even putting _Teclis_ in this is a risk, as he's one of the most powerful magic-users in all of Fantasy. Seriously, the guy beats up Greater Daemons with his spells in his sleep!**

 **Moving on, any of you who have any knowledge of Warhammer knew that this arc was going to include Elves. Whether or not more Elves will appear in future arcs is unknown, mostly because Shepard may or may not punch them in the face. Repeatedly.**

 **Another thing you probably noticed was that Eliza has been getting a lot of attention over the last couple of chapters. I like Eliza; she went from being a cute apprentice for Shepard to being one of my favorite OCs in this story. However, I want to emphasize that she will** _ **not**_ **be going into battle. She's not a warrior, she's a dreamer and a builder. And as for a possible romance between her and Locke… well, since I'm a hopeless romantic, I wanted to put one pairing in this story, since Shepard had her fling with Felix and if she had to balance a relationship on top of taking care of David** _ **and**_ **all her other responsibilities, she'd probably go insane. Also, who else was Eliza going to get together with? She works with Leitzer, and all the other officers are either too old, or are not into women. And I like Locke; he's fun.**

 **Wow, that rant went on longer than I thought it would. Better wrap this up.**

 **Next Chapter: Shepard walks a delicate balance between friend and enemy.**

 **The Pigeon Bomb might be more dangerous, but the Pigeon Muffin is more fun.**


	22. Pride before the Fall, Part 2

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. IT DOESN'T MATTER IF WITCH ELVES ARE HOT, YOU COULDN'T PAY ME ENOUGH TO GO NEAR ONE.**

 **So, first off, I want to say that it's nice to know that I'm not alone in my hatred of all things Elf. High-five! Secondly, Dark Elves are bastards, and you're going to see why. Pro tip: if you're ever captured by a Dark Elf, your only escape is suicide. Or pray to the god of your choice (my preference is the Ancestor Gods, or Gork, or possibly Mork) that Gotrek and Felix somehow rescue you.**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 22

Pride before the Fall, Part 2

" _It pleases me to no end that Humans are showing signs of progress."—Loremaster Teclis_

" _I swear, if I get one more condescending look from an Elf, I won't be held responsible if he ends up with a broken jaw!"—General Alexia Shepard_

...

"So…" Shepard glanced at the two Elves. "Who wants to tell me why you're here? I'm sure it's not out of the goodness of your hearts."

Prince Orzin merely raised an aristocratic eyebrow in disdain, but said nothing. Despite that being his only action, Teclis gave the Prince a disapproving glare.

Shepard had been fascinated by the High Elf host as it took up positions near her army. Every single Elf was tall, thinner than a Human, and moved with a grace that, to her, put the late Thane and Miranda _combined_ to shame. Even the Elves wearing heavier armor marched with an ethereal ease.

To Shepard's eternal annoyance, she also noticed that every single Elf, man or woman, whose head was exposed had better hair than her.

"I believe that you know the answer already, General," Teclis said; his voice was serene, but there was layer of steel beneath it. "If your Celestial Wizard has seen the same things that I have, at any rate."

Gettmann nodded; if Shepard had to guess at her friend's feelings, she'd have to say 'awestruck'. Then again, if history was to be believed, Teclis _founded_ the Colleges of Magic, so this would be like if Shepard met the first N7.

"You're after the shard," Shepard said, her words a statement, rather than a question. "But you haven't said why."

"Is that what you are calling it?" Teclis looked faintly amused, but not in a way that made Shepard want to hit him. "I like it; after all, the pieces are not whole."

"You didn't answer my question," Shepard pointed out.

Orzin looked annoyed, but Teclis smiled. "Indeed, and I apologize. We _are_ seeking this 'shard', but only to keep it out of the hands of the Dark Elves." He offered a graceful shrug. "Other than as an object of study, it holds no real value for us without the other pieces."

"Well, this is the one closest to you," Shepard said. "The other two were _way_ southeast of us, and we got those already."

Once again, Teclis smiled. "Wonderful. It is good to see that your people's nobility remains, and that you have not fallen to temptation."

"It's not like the shards are evil," Shepard offered. "And, like you said, they're not exactly whole yet." She shook her head. "We're getting off topic. Do you know where this shard is, or do your evil cousins have it yet?"

Orzin finally spoke. "No, neither side has located it. We do know that the Dark Elves plan to use its immense power to fuel a spell—"

Teclis cut in smoothly. "Which, sadly, we do not know the purpose of, but knowing our 'evil cousins', as you put it, it would be better if we never found out."

Shepard nodded. "We'll try to keep it that way. Now, what about the city?"

"What about it?" Orzin asked.

The High Elf's haughty attitude was already wearing Shepard's patience thin; she could tolerate superior attitudes—back home, there was always some Turian, Asari, Salarian, or Krogan who was convinced that they were better than Humans because of something or other—but when there was such indifference about the fate of innocent people…

She was reminded of the Council's reaction about the abduction of colonists by the Collectors. _It's not our problem, they're not our people,_ and so on. By the end of that meeting, Shepard had been so enraged that she'd punched Udina, and later, ruined Sparatus' marriage by sending his wife every bit of information Liara had found about the Turian Councilor's mistress.

Prince or not, Orzin was giving her the same vibe, but unlike back home, something was going on right in front of her, and no high-and-mighty bastard was going to treat it lightly.

However, before she could punch the Elf's teeth in, or even yell at him, Teclis intervened.

"Prince Orzin, you have not seen what Humans are capable of," he said; his words were polite, but every instinct Shepard had was suddenly screaming 'do not cross'. "They have much potential, but they cannot reach it if they are slaughtered because we did not help them in their time of need."

"Well, we can't fight them in the city," Shepard said, once the feeling of danger had passed. "If what I've heard about Dark Elves is true, they'll tear an army to shreds if we try marching through. The fire is also going to cause some problems, and I don't want civilians getting caught in the fighting."

Teclis smiled happily, though Orzin looked like he couldn't care less, further increasing Shepard's desire to hit him.

"The best option would be to get the Dark Elves outside the city," Shepard continued. "If we can get them into the open, we'll have a much more even fight. What kind of forces did you bring with you? I couldn't get a good count."

"A thousand foot soldiers," Teclis answered immediately, "as well as a hundred mounted warriors, mostly light cavalry. We also have some light war machines, and a dozen Wizards. The ships that carried us here are staying away from the Dark Elf fleet for now."

Shepard nodded, her mind already working to incorporate the Elves into her own forces. "I've got a little over two thousand men. Mostly infantry, but I've got plenty of cavalry, light and heavy. I've also got some big guns." She grinned dangerously as the _Mako_ rumbled past. "And I've got that. Any idea how many bad guys are waiting for us?"

Teclis kept up his smile, but Orzin stared at the tank, as if he was trying to figure out what he was looking at. In her head, Shepard was cheering at the passive-aggressive flexing of military might; she hated to be underestimated, especially by someone she was supposed to work with.

"Like you said, General, fighting in the city will be costly for your troops," Teclis said calmly. "As for the enemy numbers, judging from the ships we saw while sailing here, I believe that there are no more than three thousand of them. Now, how do you plan on getting the Dark Elves into the open?"

"Easy," Shepard replied. "We're all looking for the shard. All we have to do is find it before the Dark Elves. I'm betting they'll chase us to get it," Shepard waved her hand at the flat fields between the two armies' position and the city, "and that's when we'll catch them."

"That still requires us to have the shard in our possession," Teclis pointed out.

Shepard nodded. "I know. I plan on leading a team into the city to find the shard, then get out as quickly as possible."

"I will go with you, General," Richter, who had remained quiet with the other officers until now, stepped forward.

"As will I," Michael said.

"I would volunteer as well," Gettmann said, then looked a bit sheepish. "However, I believe that Lord Teclis also knows how to identify the shard, and his magic is more potent than mine."

Shepard glanced at Teclis. "Well? Are you volunteering?"

Teclis nodded at her, then at Gettmann. "I appreciate your humility. And yes, I will join you. Prince Orzin will command my forces in my absence."

"And Grand Master Helschlitt will do the same for mine." Gregor raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn't react. Though he was the newest addition to Shepard's army, no one had ever contested his position as second-in-command; he had been in more large-scale battles than even Shepard, and had both the wisdom and experience to back up his position.

"I suggest that we move soon," Teclis said, glancing at the setting sun. "The city is large, and the more time we spend here, the greater the chance that the enemy will find the shard first."

"Agreed." Shepard nodded at her officers, who left to carry out their duties, or to grab what supplies they needed. Once Teclis and Orzin—who was somehow managing to look graceful, even while fuming—left, she followed after Gregor. "Wait a sec, Gregor."

"Is something the matter, General?"

Shepard grimaced. "In the grand scheme of things, probably not, but I'd consider it a favor." She made sure that no one was nearby before speaking. "Locke is still recovering, and Eliza is still freaking out. Could you make sure that they stick together for the night?"

Gregor's face twitched, like he couldn't decide whether to scoff or laugh. "General, is now the best time to be playing matchmaker?"

"It's not that." Shepard paused, then smiled. "Okay, so maybe there's a little bit of that. Right now, though, I know that they're less likely to do something stupid if they're together."

Gregor bowed his head. "Very well, General. Good luck tonight; I fear that you will need it."

Shepard glanced over at the city, lit up in the darkness by burning houses, and sighed. "Yeah, so do I."

…

If this had been a simple raiding operation, Lord Jiro Blightscar would have been pleased; the attack on Marienburg had been flawless, and there were thousands of capable Humans that would have made fine slaves.

Unfortunately, this was _not_ a simple raid, and in order to achieve their goals quickly, the Dark Elves had been forced to quickly butcher any unfortunate Human that got in their way. It was enough for the Witch Elves to start giving him murderous glares when they thought he wasn't looking. A few of them had begun torturing some of the Humans, on the pretense of 'interrogating' them; Blightscar wisely decided not to intervene.

Even worse, the accursed High Elves had shown up not long ago, and dozens of his warriors were dead. The web of fragile alliances he'd created in order to keep this army together was quickly becoming even more tenuous.

"You seem upset, dear brother."

Blightscar scowled at the approach of Lethe. Were it not for the fact that she had some favor with Malekith, Blightscar would have killed her long ago, sibling or not. He and the Sorceress were as different as they could possibly be. Blightscar was tall and muscular, every inch of his body covered in ornate black armor; he was a brute of an Elf, and his shaven head completed the image, though he was deceptively fast with his twin scimitars. Lethe, on the other hand, was short, barely reaching her brother's chest, and extremely thin, almost emaciated; she wore long purple robes that revealed her legs, and her black hair flowed down to her knees.

Despite being brother and sister, the Blightscar siblings hadn't seen each other in over a century. Jiro was content with raiding the Humans and High Elves, while Lethe had been busy building up power and influence among other nobles. It was good that they rarely met; the last time they had seen each other, knives had been drawn.

"Of course I'm upset, _dear_ sister," Blightscar spat. "This entire venture is about to fall apart, and all for a bauble that you can't even use!"

Blightscar took savage delight at the fury on his sister's face. While obtaining this magical artifact had been a task of great importance, and the success of which would garner much favor with the Witch King, the fact of the matter was that the army sent to get it were essentially servants for fetching. Of course, Lethe hadn't known that when she'd accepted this task—not that Malekith had given her any other choice, aside from a painful death—and had assumed that she would be the one to use the artifact in the magical ritual.

Even more embarrassing for Lethe, it was revealed that Malekith had little real interest in the artifact. If it proved useful, he would be pleased, but if it turned out to be a lost cause, he would barely care; to him, this entire expedition was little more than an entertaining diversion.

"That is none of your concern," Lethe hissed. "Lord Malekith has given us this task, and we _must_ succeed!"

The male Blightscar cared little either way for his sister's fate; he had been chosen to lead the military aspect of the force because of his martial skills, and he would use them, first on the weak Human resistance, and soon, against the hated High Elves. If he came back to Naggaroth with proof of dead High Elves—or, even better, with High Elf slaves—he would be rewarded; all he had to lose was his life, and there were far worse fates to be had. Lethe had barely anything to gain, and everything to lose.

Jiro grinned maliciously. "Then I suggest that you stop pestering me and work to find this artifact. The sooner that task is done, the sooner we can leave this miserable Human dwelling."

Lethe snarled and stormed off, much to her brother's satisfaction; while Lethe could maintain her composure around most, she had no immunity to Jiro's barbs, something he took great pleasure in.

With the Sorceress gone, Jiro signaled a runner to attend him. "Send word to half of our forces; tell them to double their efforts in locating the artifact."

The lesser Dark Elf bowed. "What about the rest of our warriors?"

"There are slaves to be had, both Human and Elf," Jiro said with a wicked smile. "I intend to get something out of this venture!"

…

"I'm starting to wish we had more men with us," Richter muttered as the small team entered the city. "We haven't seen any sign of the enemy, but I just know they're out there."

Shepard had to agree; she was just thankful that all of them had worn dark cloaks over their armor, to keep any fires from reflecting off the plates and giving away their position. It wasn't the best camouflage, but it was better than nothing.

Marienburg was a little unnerving; what had once been a thriving center of trade—albeit of the illegal variety—and life was now a mass of dark or burning buildings. If it hadn't been for the gunshots and screams in the distance that proved that some people were still alive, Shepard would have thought that the city was completely abandoned.

"You are correct," Teclis said quietly. "The Dark Elves are combing the city for the shard. However, they will be distracted by the opportunity to collect slaves and treasure."

At the mention of slavery, Shepard's mind flashed back to Mindoir, watching helplessly from under her bed as Batarians stormed her home and murdered her parents when they tried to fight back. Years later, she had found a few survivors of Mindoir, and after seeing them, she was glad that her parents had been given a quick death.

From what she'd heard of the Dark Elves, they were even worse than the Batarians. The idea was unsettling, to say the least.

Then she was back in the present, less than a second later. Richter and Michael hadn't noticed anything, but Teclis had, if the eyes flickering in her direction were any indication. There was a questioning expression on his face, but Shepard gave the smallest shake of her head, hoping that he would take the hint to drop the matter. Thankfully, he did.

"How do you know that they will not simply ignore any distractions?" Michael asked.

Teclis smiled, but there was only sadness in his eyes. "Because it is in their nature. Cruelty and greed have corrupted them into twisted mockeries of what they once were."

Shepard grimaced; the word 'corruption' was used pretty frequently on this world, and she could see why. It was easy for someone to fall to temptation and base desires; even the Empire had gone through plenty of it over the centuries. While it wasn't her thing, she was starting to understand why so many people turned to faith; if Michael was any indication, it could actually protect against such evils.

"Why are only some houses burning?" Shepard asked, looking around. "It's like they just picked spots at random to set on fire."

"I find it unlikely that the Dark Elves were the ones to start the fires," Teclis answered. "The more probable answer is that some of the residents tried to fight back, or panicked, and accidentally set their homes on fire. The Dark Elves usually prefer not to announce when and where they are attacking."

That made sense to Shepard. "And if they haven't found the shard yet, they wouldn't want to risk losing it in a fire unless they were sure that it wasn't there. And it's hard to check when everyone is fighting."

"Indeed." Teclis stiffened. "Someone is coming. They are not Human."

The others immediately moved into the darkest shadows they could find, and not a moment too soon. A pair of Dark Elves rounded the corner; both wore dark cloaks, and if it hadn't been for the raging fire next to them, Shepard probably would have dismissed them as random shadows.

Shepard considered simply waiting until the Dark Elves passed, but when they came within fifty paces of the group, both of them reached for weapons beneath their cloaks. Shepard didn't hesitate to draw her pistol and put two rounds into one Elf's gut. The other Elf lunged at her, a cruel-looking dagger in each hand, but he was forced to jump back when Richter's sword almost stabbed into his head. Michael swung his hammer, but the Elf nimbly danced around his heavy blows; in return, the Elf sliced one dagger across Michael's leg, but that was all he managed before Shepard cut him in half at the waist with Unbak Urk.

"Are you okay?" Shepard asked, alarmed when Michael staggered.

The Warrior Priest put a hand to his thigh, which came away with bright-red blood. "Damn, now that's a wound." Shepard couldn't tell if that was Michael's attempt at humor, but she didn't appreciate it.

"Hold still," Teclis said gently, and put his hand just over the wound in way that was similar to Parral and the other Jade Wizards; a few seconds later, the bleeding stopped, and Michael no longer grimaced in pain.

"That was impressive," Shepard said; Michael's injury had been deep, and unless Parral dug deep into his reserves of power, he couldn't heal wounds like that so quickly.

Teclis smiled. "Healing is arguably one of magic's greatest uses, and I have had a long time to study the Wind of Life."

"We should get moving," Richter advised. "If that was a patrol, the rest of them are going to notice if they don't return."

"Indeed." Teclis closed his eyes, and Shepard thought she felt a brief shudder in the air. "The shard is near the center of the city. I do not believe that the Dark Elves have found it yet, though they are searching." His expression turned a little smug. "They have a Sorceress, though she is not skilled enough to find the shard unless it is very close. She also does not know that I am aware of her. I will try to divert her efforts further."

"You can feed her false information?" Shepard grinned at the idea, but then the smile disappeared. "Why didn't you tell me that earlier? We could have lured these guys into the open without as much trouble!"

To his credit, Teclis looked sheepish. "I apologize, General. I did not really consider that option."

Shepard grumbled under her breath for a moment. "Screw it, we're here now. Try to get the Dark Elves to look near the northeast; that's farther away from us."

"Very well." Teclis gripped his staff tighter and took several deep breaths. "There. The Sorceress should now detect the shard's energies, but in the wrong place."

"That should give us some time, at least." Shepard looked over at Michael. "Are you good?"

Michael took a few steps to test out his healed leg. "I am, General, save for a few aches. I am sure that I will be fine after this ordeal is finished."

"Hopefully, we won't run into more trouble," Richter said grimly.

Shepard groaned. "Why did you have to say that? Now, something _has_ to happen." In the distance, an agonized scream rang out. "See what I mean?"

…

It had to be said that it was a strange day that Locke did _not_ smile when waking up next to a beautiful woman. He was not a man who had an empty bed for long. However, several factors contributed to his less-than-pleased awakening.

First, he was still rattled by the close call he'd had back in Marienburg, and the loss of nearly all of the men he'd taken with him; his cavalry had the least amount of casualties among Shepard's army, and it hurt to see so many horses come back with empty saddles.

And then there was who he was waking up next to. Eliza wasn't actually sharing his cot, just sitting next to it on a chair, and was still awake. She was still listless, and her face was tear-streaked; if anything, she looked worse than before.

Still, she managed a tiny smile when she saw Locke wake up. "Lieutenant, it's good to see you awake."

"And it is always wonderful to see your beautiful face," Locke said, trying to do what he could to make Eliza feel better. "And please, we have known each other long enough for you to call me by my first name."

Eliza let out a noise that sounded like a cross between a chuckle and a sob. To Locke, it was still better than the look of absolute despair he'd seen on her when they'd arrived at Marienburg.

"You sound better… Elias," Eliza said, hesitating over Locke's name, but still managing to smile. "I'm glad. Your men were asking if you were all right."

"Yes, I can't be anything less than perfect, can I?" Locke's question was meant as a joke, but he couldn't stop a hint of bitterness from creeping into his tone. He was just a man, after all.

"Oh, Elias." Eliza's smile was a little wobbly, but there was a decidedly wicked edge to it. "We all know you're not perfect; that's why we have General Shepard."

Locke gaped for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed. "O-oh, my heart! Why must you wound me so, fair maiden?"

Eliza giggled. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. General Shepard is a bad influence on me."

For some reason, Locke did not see that as a bad thing. "Speaking of our glorious leader, where is she?"

Eliza quickly sobered. "She went into Marienburg to get the shard. Then she'll lead the Dark Elves outside, where we can fight them better."

Locke's eyes were wide with horror. "She went in there _alone_!? What was she thinking? What were _any_ of them thinking!?"

"She didn't go in alone," Eliza said quickly. "She took Father Lichtseele and Sergeant Richter, and Lord Teclis went with them."

"It's still four people against an _army_!" Locke tried to rise, but Eliza's surprisingly strong grip on his shoulder stopped him. "Eliza, let me go, I need to get back there!"

"It's too late," Eliza said softly. "They left almost three hours ago. You'd never find them in time. Besides, Grand Master Helschlitt ordered me to make sure that you got some rest."

Locke scowled and fumed, but stopped struggling. "I suppose if General Shepard can survive Karak Eight Peaks alone for a few days, she can handle a city with Dark Elves for one."

"She can handle anything. I know it." Locke blinked as he realized that Eliza had her hands clasped together, as if in prayer. "I have faith in her."

Locke reached out and gently put his hand on Eliza's knee. "We all do."

…

"What in the name of Sigmar is this?" In all the time Shepard had known him, Michael had never been rattled by anything; if he was, he never showed it. Now, though, he looked very close to flying into a rage.

Shepard couldn't blame him; she felt about the same. What they had discovered was beyond cruelty. It was evil. There was no other word to describe it.

They had followed the screams, agonized cries that no one should have to make, with the hope that they could rescue the poor souls being tortured. They were too late.

Dozens of people had been rounded up by the Dark Elves and subjected to horrible fates. Some of them had their eyes gouged out and forced to run around for the Elves' amusement; when it was no longer funny, the poor wretches were herded into a burning building and roasted alive. Others had had their feet chopped off, and forced to walk on the bloody stumps of their legs. The worst fate, to Shepard, belonged to those who had been skinned alive, yet were stopped from dying; they staggered around listlessly, their minds broken from the agony. All they could do was scream.

"Some Dark Elves use such torment to fuel their power, much like the followers of Chaos." Teclis looked haunted. "For those that have no talent for magic, they simply do it for entertainment."

Shepard took a deep breath. Then another. "These assholes are going to pay for this. There is no excuse for this kind of… _evil_."

Richter gripped his sword hard enough to make the leather on the hilt creak. "The sooner we find that shard, the sooner we can kill those bastards."

"Then we must press on." Teclis pointed in the direction that the shard lay. Unfortunately, it meant going through the courtyard of mutilated corpses before them.

Shepard swallowed bile, then marched forward. She tried not to look at the bodies as she passed by them, but one face caught her eye. In a moment that would haunt her nightmares for a long time, she thought she saw _Eliza_ on the ground, stripped of all skin, save for her face, and with her eyes stabbed out. But it wasn't her; the woman on the bloody cobblestone was older, slightly taller, and the scraps of hair that remained were a different shade of brown.

It wasn't Eliza, but the resemblance meant that it was likely her mother.

"Shit," Shepard hissed. "Fucking _shit_!"

"General?" Richter looked at her, then at the corpse, and came to the same conclusion. "Oh, damn it all."

"I gave her hope," Shepard said, then knelt down by the body and draped her cloak over it, to give Eliza's mother some decency in death. "I think Eliza was positive that I'd save her mother."

Michael muttered a quick prayer for the dead, then patted her shoulder. "You cannot save everyone, General. You know this."

"Yeah, I do." Shepard clenched her hands so tightly that it hurt. "It's just worse when it happens to people I care about." After a moment, she stood back up. "We'll have to come back here later. These people deserve a proper burial."

"Of course, General." Michael's tone was solemn, though his eyes promised bloody retribution for the atrocities he saw. "I will personally lead the efforts when we are finished here."

"Thank you." Shepard glanced at Teclis, who had been hanging back during this. "We need to keep going."

Teclis gave her a gentle, understanding smile, and began walking. "Follow me."

…

"Grand Master, the Elf forces are moving out of position again."

Gregor nearly snarled, but kept his features locked in the grim scowl that the Knights of Ironrock were famous for. "Where is Prince Orzin?"

The scout wasn't as disciplined as Gregor, and his frustration was clear to see. "Hosting his own war council."

"I will go see him. Again." Gregor nodded at the soldier. "Thank you for informing me. Return to your post."

Much to the Imperials' annoyance, the High Elf army had made little effort to coordinate with them. Prince Orzin had agreed to a unified battle line, but made a point to keep his forces at a decent distance from the Humans. As such, Gregor had to ride to the High Elf army, along with a handful of knights; it took a great deal of self-control not to appear offended when the Elves on lookout did not immediately let him pass and meet with Orzin.

Like most Humans, Gregor had not had much interaction with Elves; in fact, this was the first time he had even seen a High Elf, though he had fought Dark Elf raiders a few times. From what he had witnessed so far, though, the two groups were more alike than they'd admit; the Dark Elves were far more depraved than their High Elf counterparts, but both arrogantly believed themselves so far above Humans that it was a wonder that they even spoke to them.

Finally, the Elves let Gregor pass, and the Grand Master found Orzin and several of his officers standing around a table, discussing something in their native tongue.

Orzin looked up at his approach. "Grand Master Helschlitt. What do you want?"

Gregor ignored how the Elf made his title sound like an insult. "Prince Orzin. Your forces are too far ahead of our own. You need to pull back, or you could be flanked when the battle begins."

Orzin waved his hand dismissively. "I have archers at the ready. My flanks are secure. _Thank you_ for your concern, but it is unwarranted. You may return to your part of the field."

The only sign of Gregor's anger was the clenching of his fist. "I am not sure that you understand the risk you put yourself in. What if your archers are attacked at range? If they are weakened, one good cavalry charge could shatter your entire formation."

Most of the other Elves, who had been merely observing, glared daggers at Gregor; the only one who nodded was a mage, a female Elf who was dressed similarly to Teclis. For a moment, Gregor dared to hope that she was an advisor that Orzin would listen to.

That hope died when Orzin turned sharply and said something to her in his own language. The mage flinched and meekly took a step back. Orzin then turned back to Gregor.

"Listen to me, Human," he snarled, "I know the dangers that the enemy represents. My people know this better than anyone. We are more than capable of handling this on our own, and were it not for _Lord_ Teclis' irrational affection for your filthy kind, we would have erased these invaders from this land!" Gregor noticed that Orzin's hand had drifted to the hilt of his sword. "You Humans are not needed here, but you should be bowing in thanks, for being allowed to take to the field alongside us!"

At this point, even some of Orzin's officers were staring at him in surprise. Gregor had a feeling that many Elves shared the Prince's views, but most of them were able to at least maintain their composure.

Gregor, however, would not give the Elf the time to rant further. "Pull your army back into formation, Prince. I will not ask again."

As he and guards rode back the way they came, one knight spoke up. "Grand Master, why did you not respond to those insults? You were well within your rights to do so."

Mortis screeched, as if he agreed with the knight, and Gregor patted the Demigryph before answering. "If I did that, we would likely have two armies to fight, rather than one, and I will not allow our men to die fighting the wrong enemy.

"And there was one more reason I did not demand a duel." Gregor finally allowed himself to show a little anger. "Orzin only insulted Humans, which I was not truly surprised by. Had he spoken ill of General Shepard, the woman to whom we owe our honor and our lives, I would not have been so restrained."

"Will you tell her about this?" another knight asked.

"I doubt I will have to," Gregor said. "If she did not know about the Elves' attitude before she left, she will likely find out without anyone telling her. I am not sure anything can surprise her."

…

"Okay, where did these assholes come from!?" Shepard yelled as she ducked under several crossbow bolts.

 _Seriously,_ she thought as she put a bullet between the eyes of the nearest Dark Elf, _are all Elves ninjas or something!?_

The group had made good progress after leaving what would later be known as the Charnel Courtyard; Teclis had estimated that they were not far from the shard. However, not long after he said that, a score of Dark Elves had appeared, almost as if from thin air. Only five of them were armed with crossbows, while ten had swords and shields.

The remaining five, however, completely baffled Shepard. They were all women, clad in what could only be described as iron bikinis, and armed with knives that would make even the most sadistic Batarian torturer jealous. At first, Shepard had wondered how those Elves were supposed to fight; she got her answer when she saw how fast they moved. Even Shepard's enhanced reflexes could barely keep track of them.

"There is a Sorceress nearby," Teclis said calmly, even as he caused two of the Dark Elves with crossbows to burst into flame. "She is not the one in command of this host, but likely serves under her. I will handle her, but your friends need your help."

It took Shepard a moment to find Michael and Richter in the melee; thankfully, they were still alive, and fighting back-to-back. They had managed to kill one swordfighter between them, while the others were easily avoiding their attacks, their movements making the Humans' blows look clumsy in comparison.

Shepard fired the last two bullets in her pistol into the Elves still shooting at her, then holstered her gun and drew Unbak Urk. She only made it a few steps before she was intercepted by the Elf women.

"Look, sisters," one said in Reikspiel, clearly trying to unnerve Shepard, "this one carries a Dwarf weapon."

"I wonder what will happen when we kill her," another one said, then licked the edge of one of her knives. "Will the Dwarfs be enraged at the loss of a friend, or thankful that we killed a thief?"

"I've got a better idea," Shepard said grimly. "How about I cut off your heads and shove 'em up your skinny asses?"

The Elves hissed, and one lunged, knives flashing. Shepard only barely brought her shield up in time, but by the time she pushed the Elf back, her armor had a dozen scratches across it. Shepard didn't just stop at pushing the Elf away; she slammed her against the wall of a soot-stained building with enough force to break one of the Elf's ribs. Too close to effectively use Unbak Urk, Shepard slammed her helm into the Elf's face, breaking her nose and stunning her. Shepard then grabbed her by the throat and tossed her to the side, disrupting the charge of another Elf.

A sharp pain in her hip made Shepard turn; another Elf had snuck up on her right side and slipped her dagger through a weak point in the armor. The cut wasn't deep, but the barbed dagger had not left a clean wound behind. In response, Shepard lashed out with Unbak Urk, the blade hitting the Elf's head with so much force that her skull practically exploded.

The death of their comrade made the other Witch Elves shriek in fury. No longer was this sport; killing Shepard was a matter of pride. One of them was still trying to breathe through a broken nose, but the other three attacked as one. Shepard desperately fended off their attacks, but the Witch Elves were unnaturally quick, scoring a dozen cuts in as many seconds; even Kai Leng hadn't been this fast.

Then again, Kai Leng had had armor and barriers, and despite being more skilled at hand-to-hand combat than Shepard had been at the time, she had still killed him.

Ignoring a cut on her elbow, Shepard tackled one Elf to the ground, then slammed herself against the back of Unbak Urk. The blade, which had been pressed against the Witch Elf's ribcage, cleaved through flesh, bone, and heart in an instant. Shepard then kicked out, her steel-clad boot connecting solidly with another Elf's knee, breaking it. She rolled to her feet and swung Unbak Urk in a horizontal arc, cleaving that same Elf's head from her neck as she fell.

Shepard had barely started looking for the remaining two Witch Elves when two knives punched through her armor and into her back. Had it not been for her enhanced skeleton, the blades would have pierced all the way through her lungs. As it was, she was still knocked down, and the uninjured Witch Elf leaned in close to whisper in her ear.

"You will pay for killing the servants of Khaine," she said quietly.

Rather than answer, Shepard reached back and grabbed the Elf's long hair and heaved her onto the bloody ground, leaving the knives buried in her back. As she stood up, Shepard slammed the edge of her shield onto the Elf's throat, crushing her larynx. She then spotted the last Witch Elf readying her blades.

Just before she attacked, however, a beam of light pierced through the side of her head, and she fell to the ground. Shepard followed the beam's path and saw Teclis step into view.

"The others," Shepard panted, but Teclis smiled before she could finish.

"They are alive," he said. "I was able to dispatch the Sorceress rather quickly, and went to help them." He glanced down at the dead Dark Elves. "I am impressed, General; not many can claim to fight five Witch Elves and survive."

"Eh, I think Gotrek and Felix did that once or twice; the books said they did, anyway." Shepard tried to shrug, but hissed in pain when the action caused her muscles to move against the knives in her back.

Teclis was at her side in an instant. "I cannot heal your injuries until the weapons are removed, General."

"Pull 'em out," Shepard growled. "Now."

"Are you sure you do not want—"

"I. Said. _Now_."

Teclis nodded, then pulled out the daggers. Shepard bit her lip hard enough to pierce the skin, but when the pain subsided, she simply pulled off her helmet and spat out the blood.

"Okay, heal now, please." Shepard was in too much pain for coherent sentences.

"I will need a moment." After a few seconds, Shepard felt the familiar energy of Life Magic wash over her, and sighed in relief as her wounds healed. She was still tired, but that hadn't been the worst fight she had ever been in.

Shepard followed Teclis over to where Michael and Richter were waiting. Both men were panting and covered in blood, much of it their own, but their injuries had already been healed. One problem that Shepard noted, however, was that all of their armor was torn open in more than a few places. Teclis caught her appraising look and coughed to get their attention.

"I may be able to help with that," he said, gesturing to Shepard's armor. "If you'll permit me?"

"Won't you need to save your energy?" Teclis was their best chance of surviving further Dark Elf attacks, not to mention being the only one who could locate the shard, and Shepard didn't want to leave him vulnerable.

Teclis smiled knowingly. "General, I have dealt with far worse. Believe me, repairing your armor is a trifling matter."

Shepard nodded; a moment later, her armor felt noticeably warmer. She heard a tearing sound, followed by hissing; she looked down and saw that the rents in her armor had sealed themselves, and were glowing orange. A few seconds passed, and then the armor looked as if it had never been damaged; Michael and Richter were the same way, though Teclis' magic did nothing for the blood.

"We must hurry," Teclis said. "The Dark Elves will be after us soon; they will notice if one of their Sorceresses has fallen."

"How far away is the shard?" Shepard asked, even as she began walking.

"It is close," Teclis murmured. "So close… I can almost see it."

"Um, General?" Richter, who had moved ahead of Shepard, pointed forward. "That might be a good place to start looking."

The group had arrived at a small marketplace, not far from Marienburg's docks. Instead of fruits and vegetables, however, there were dozens of stalls that sold the widest variety of products that Shepard had ever seen. There were gemstones the size of fists, exotic weapons from across the world, even one stall the sign on which claimed it sold books on necromancy that didn't warp the soul.

If Shepard hadn't been wearing her helmet, she would have rubbed her temples. _Okay, if the city is this fucked up by the Dark Elves, the Empire will probably have to take it back. If that happens, I'm making sure that there are some goddamn customs officials or something. None of this crap looks safe; or legal, for that matter!_

"Teclis, please tell me you can find the shard," Shepard said, not in the mood to look through everything to find something that would probably barely fit in her hand.

"I believe so," Teclis replied. "It is this way."

He led them to a stall that claimed to have artifacts from around the world. Considering the amount of trade—mostly illegal inside the Empire—that passed through Marienburg, it wouldn't have surprised anyone if that claim was accurate.

As the four of them searched the relatively large stall, Shepard found something interesting—a roughly hexagonal shield, made out of what appeared to be stone, and carved in the shape of a coiled serpent. In the center of the snake's mouth was a black stone that seemed to draw in light.

"Be careful with that," Teclis warned. "I sense magic within that shield. It could be dangerous."

Shepard glanced between the Elf and the shield. "Are you sure?"

Teclis looked at her, then sighed. "You want it, don't you?"

Shepard grinned sheepishly. "It looks cool, what can I say?"

"Very well." Teclis shook his head, but held his hand out over the shield; not a second passed before he paled and threw himself back.

"That's not a good sign," Shepard commented.

"That stone at the center," Teclis muttered, "it started to drain the magic from me before I even finished gathering the power for a spell!"

"What does that mean?"

"It means that… it would likely consume magic used against it."

Shepard looked between Teclis and the shield several times, then tossed her old shield to the side. "Dibs."

Even Michael blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Dibs," Shepard repeated happily as she picked up the shield; to her happy surprise, despite it being much thicker than her old shield, it was not much heavier. "I just called dibs. This is mine now." She noticed the looks she was getting. "What? Everyone knows that if you call dibs on something, it's yours. And I've called dibs, so I'm keeping the magic-eating shield, thank you very much." She practically skipped away, patting Teclis on the shoulder as she passed. "Come on, we have to find the shard."

It didn't take much longer for Teclis to find a small chest in the back of the stall. Within the chest was what appeared to be half of a golden ring. Unlike the previous rings that Shepard had recovered, this one didn't look like one of the gyroscopic parts of a Mass Relay; instead, it looked like half of the rear section of the forked tines. If Shepard had to guess, the final artifact would end up looking like a very small Mass Relay, though she still had no idea how it was supposed to get her home.

Then again, the shards had some powerful magic built into them, so Shepard was willing to let it slide.

"Okay, guys, we need to get out of the city," Shepard said, all business now. "Teclis, hold onto the shard, keep it safe, and stay between the three of us."

Shepard took point, while Richter and Michael finished a triangular formation around Teclis.

"We don't stop moving," Shepard went on. "We push through whatever gets in our way, and we keep going until we reach our lines."

"It is possible that the Dark Elves will figure out that we have the shard," Teclis pointed out. "Before we are ready to counterattack, I mean."

"That's a risk we'll have to take," Shepard said. "Come on. Let's get the hell out of here."

 **All right, the chapter is done! I want to apologize for taking so long to update. I hit a wall for a while, and then I got caught up with writing Cycles Upon Cycles, and also school, and, well… life. But it's here now, and I'll try not to take two months to write the next one!**

 **Now, first thing I want to address: Teclis wasn't the main focus of the chapter, and he wasn't meant to be. I wasn't going to have him take care of every fight by himself. He helps when needed. And because High Elves are** _ **so**_ **advanced, they can use all of the Winds of Magic, unlike a Human Wizard, who can only use one. Teclis in particular is just that awesome.**

 **Now, some of you might be thinking that a few Humans (and Teclis) had no business beating a bunch of Dark Elves in combat. Okay, just because they're faster than Humans does not necessarily make them more skilled, and** _ **certainly**_ **not tougher. In fact, Elves are about as tough as any Human, and Witch Elves fight practically naked. One good hit is going to drop them like a bad habit.**

 **Also, that shield that Shepard picked up? First, if you haven't figured out where it's from, you don't know Warhammer. Second, I didn't just throw it in there to give Shepard a new toy; it's going to be important later. Third, I put in that scene as a bit of an homage to the Mass Effect games; after all, Shepard is always picking up weapons and gear she's never used before, and doesn't seem to care about the risk. Case in point, the Collector weapons.**

 **And yeah, I'm sure most of you aren't surprised that Eliza's mom is dead, though it was a great opportunity to show that Shepard isn't perfect, and that she won't always save someone. I know you don't especially care about Eliza's mom, since I think she was mentioned all of ONE time before this arc. However, most of you seem to care about Eliza, which I am happy about, since I also like Eliza. As such, the scene where she gets the bad news is going to be sad. Very sad. I'm apologizing in advance.**

 **Next Chapter: Shepard has the shard, but also an entire army on her heels! With the High Elves refusing to work with the Empire, this is going to be a messy fight.**

 **The Battle of a Thousand Muffins was the largest gathering of baked goods in the history of the Old World.**


	23. Pride before the Fall, Part 3

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. NO MATTER HOW HARD I TRY, THE IMAGES OF WHAT DARK ELVES DO CONTINUE TO STAY IN MY HEAD. CAN GAMES WORKSHOP CLAIM THOSE FROM ME? PLEASE?**

 **You know, I'd planned to work on one of my other stories before finishing this arc, just so that the ol' brain-batteries were recharged. But I couldn't get this out of my mind. Still, I'm glad; at least now I'll be able to move on to Shepard fighting people who aren't sadistic assholes *cough*DarkElves*cough*. Next time, she'll fight regular assholes.**

 **Random Person: So… one of the other Elf factions?**

 **No, I have no plans for Shepard fighting the High Elves. Maybe the Wood Elves, but I can't promise anything.**

… **wait, how did you get in here?**

 **Aaaand, he's gone.**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 23

Pride before the Fall, Part 3

" _Marienburg was a good reminder that even the supposedly best of us can become monsters. Of course, I learned that years ago, but it was a safer exposure for the newer guys than Chaos… not by much, but still."—General Alexia Shepard, to a junior officer._

" _I still don't know if gods exist, but if there's one for punishment, then they better get off their divine ass and lay some smiting down on those fucking Elves!"—General Alexia Shepard, in her private journal._

…

The Dark Elves under the Blightscar siblings were used to their conflict spilling over onto the troops, but any past suffering was nothing in the face of Lethe's rage. Only her brother seemed immune to her screaming fit, despite being the direct focus of it; if anything, he seemed amused by his sister's fury.

"That weak mage stole the artifact!" Lethe shrieked. "We must go after it, before they escape!"

It had not been long before Lethe and her remaining Sorceresses had realized that they had been tricked into following a false trail. Once that happened, they had been quick to find the location of the real artifact; unfortunately for them, it was already on its way out of the city.

"Such a shame," Jiro said with a knowing smirk. "You spent all that time learning politics and magic, but none of it went into basic tactics. Be smart, sister; the artifact will likely be out of the city before we can reach it, and there are two armies waiting for us to make such a blunder. If we go into the open, we will lose; it is that simple."

The crack of Lethe slapping her brother across the face could be heard throughout the camp. Jiro's eyes blazed, but he made no move to strike back. He knew he was right, and that was all the victory he needed.

"If we fail here, Lord Malekith will have my head!" Lethe tried to look more angry than scared, but it wasn't working very well. "What else would you suggest I do?"

"Simple," Jiro said, "don't return to Naggaroth. I know I don't plan to."

His words were said quietly, so that no potential spies or assassins could hear him. It wouldn't do to get killed before he even tried to desert.

Lethe stared at him. "How can you even suggest that? We would be hunted down like dogs!"

Jiro very much doubted that. He could admit that he was of no real importance to the Dark Elf courts, but that didn't bother him much. Lethe, on the other hand, had spent much of her life building up connections and favors; to throw it all away to be an independent pirate was inconceivable to her.

He wasn't suggesting Lethe abandon the campaign out of compassion; if anything, he would have been more than happy to gut his sister on the spot. However, Lethe was a Sorceress of no small power, and having that power on his side could only be a good thing.

"Never," Lethe hissed. "It would never work. Lord Malekith would kill us, and I am not willing to abandon this, not when there is a chance that I can still succeed!" She turned to one of her lesser Sorceresses. "Gather the troops, everything we have; we'll crush the Humans and our foolish brethren and claim the artifact before they can spirit it away."

While Lethe stormed off, Jiro sighed; he knew that his sister was likely marching to her death, but she was too scared of what Malekith would do to her to do anything else.

"Are the ships ready to set sail?" he asked one of his officers.

"Yes, Captain." The Dark Elf saluted. "All who are loyal to you are prepared; those who would stand against you are dead."

"And the slaves?"

"They will be pushed to the breaking point, but they will suffice."

"Good." Jiro turned on his heel and headed to the docks. "Have the fleet set a course for Lustria."

…

Shepard was greeted by cheers as she returned to her army.

"It's the General!" was heard among the cries, "She's back, and so are the others!"

 _At least they remembered I didn't go in alone,_ Shepard thought wryly.

The retreat out of Marienburg was short, but nerve-wracking; with stealth all but abandoned, the group was jumping at every shadow. It was even worse when they heard the sound of Dark Elf horns calling the entire host to battle. While that was a sign that the Dark Elves were busy gathering in one place, and that meant that they wouldn't be sending hunter-killer teams after them, it also meant that there was an entire army on their tails.

But now, Shepard had her own army on her side; heck, she even had a spare!

"I wish I had time to celebrate, boys, but we have work to do." Shepard gave the men crowding around the returning team an understanding, but forceful, smile. "Where's the Grand Master?"

"Here I am, General." The soldiers parted as Gregor rode up to them on Mortis. "It is good to see that you've returned unharmed."

Shepard only shrugged. "I wouldn't say 'unharmed', but I don't have any new scars, so that's good, right?" Her expression turned serious. "I wish there was more time to tell you the details, but there's a few thousand angry Dark Elves coming after us."

"Understood, General; please, you and the others get some water and a few minutes of rest, while I ready the army." He nodded at Teclis. "Lord Teclis, I humbly ask that you return to Prince Orzin; perhaps you can convince him to keep your forces aligned with ours."

Teclis frowned, though his ire clearly wasn't on Gregor. "Is that the case? Very well, I shall do what I can."

With that, he was gone, already heading to the High Elf lines.

Shepard glanced at Gregor. "Problems?"

Gregor sighed. "Like you, I will have to share the details when there is time, General."

"General!" Shepard was startled to see Locke practically sprinting towards her, with Eliza not far behind.

"Go on," Shepard said to Gregor, "I'll take care of this."

Gregor nodded and wheeled Mortis around, already bellowing orders. Richter and Michael retreated to a respectful distance, drinking from waterskins that soldiers had given them.

"General, are you all right?" Locke looked her up and down, as if he was searching for injuries. "You look like you've been in a battle or two."

"Nothing serious, just a few scuffles." Shepard gave them both her best reassuring smile. "I'd say you should see the other guys, but it was kind of… messy."

"Um, General?" Eliza was shuffling nervously in place. "I know that Marienburg is a big city, but was there any sign of…"

Shepard felt her good cheer drain away; Eliza was desperate to find her mother, but it was too late. As much as Shepard wanted to gently break the news to the girl, and then do her best to comfort her when she grieved, there was a battle about to begin. Shepard couldn't allow herself to be distracted by a devastated friend, and Eliza would be no good to anyone if she was told the news now.

And so, Shepard kept up her smile. "Eliza, we can worry about your mother when this is over. I'm sorry, but it has to be done. Now, please, go back to the supply wagons and stay there until the battle is finished." Eliza nodded and hurried away. "Locke, are you ready to fight?"

Locke's easygoing attitude, which had returned when he saw that Shepard was all right, faded. "I have had more than enough rest, General. I'll gather up my men, and we'll avenge those that were lost."

"Good man." Shepard patted his shoulder. "Just don't do anything too crazy. Well, at least nothing crazier than anything _I'd_ do."

Locke actually laughed. "General, I do not believe that anyone can outdo your deeds."

Shepard frowned as Locke left; she wasn't sure if he had just given her a backhanded compliment or not. She shook her head; it wasn't important.

Seeing that Michael and Richter had already returned to their respective units, Shepard gave herself a moment to prepare. She stretched out her sore muscles, and took a long drink of water; satisfied, she slipped off one gauntlet, brought her fingers to her lips, and let out a sharp whistle. Farther away, Stormwing let out an answering shriek and was at her side at short glide later.

"Hey, buddy." Shepard patted the Griffon's flank. "Are you ready to kick some ass?" Stormwing pawed the ground eagerly. "Good, because I _really_ want to put the hurt on these bastards."

Shepard put her gauntlet and helmet back on, then climbed onto the saddle; a moment later, Stormwing launched himself into the air. The Griffon climbed higher, giving Shepard a good view of the allied armies.

The Imperial forces were already mostly in formation, and Gregor had quickly marshalled the rest. Shepard was pleased to see her men moving so efficiently; even Locke's cavalry, usually the most flamboyant part of her army, was taking stock of the terrain and discussing the best plan of attack.

If the Humans were efficiency, the High Elves were grace. Regiments of warriors were shifting to different positions, but where Imperial units would march rhythmically, the Elves flowed around each other like water. To Shepard's annoyance, however, she noticed that the High Elves were too far ahead of her army, exposing their flank.

 _That was probably one of the issues Gregor didn't have time to tell me about,_ she thought.

With a nudge from his rider, Stormwing turned in midair to see the approaching Dark Elves. Their speed was impressive, and their ability to get into formation without any significant drop in that speed was even more so. From what Shepard could see, the Dark Elf host was mostly made up of spearmen and the warriors with crossbows, but she also saw more of the Witch Elves, and plenty of cavalry. It seemed that the High Elves' estimates of the enemy's numbers were off; there were almost five thousand Dark Elves mobilizing. A series of high-pitched shrieks caught her attention, and her eyes went wide at the sight of a five-headed Hydra stomp forward as well.

"Okay, that's new," she muttered. "Note to self: sic the _Mako_ on that ugly thing."

Speaking of her tank, Shepard saw it trundle forward to the front of her line, along with the artillery. Rather than march forward to meet the Dark Elves while under covering fire, and then get drawn in to a battle against a foe that was much faster in hand-to-hand fighting, the plan was to bombard the enemy as they advanced, doing as much damage as possible from long range before pulling the guns back. Then, the light cavalry would disrupt the spearmen with short-ranged fire, and the heavy cavalry would shatter the formation; hopefully, that would give the infantry enough of an advantage, and the Dark Elves would be routed.

That had been the plan before Shepard had gone into Marienburg, and other than the High Elves' change in position, it looked to still be in effect. She still didn't know what the High Elves were capable of, but if they were as fast as their evil cousins, then they had a useful counter against any elite units that the Dark Elves used.

Growing cheers caught her attention; down below, her soldiers were starting to beat weapons against shields or the ground, and chanting her name. As the sun was rising off to her side, Shepard wryly realized that she probably cut a dashing figure on the back of Stormwing.

 _I guess the Emperor was right about the men needing to see me,_ she thought, and then sighed. _Fine; I had to be a hero back home, I can do it again._

"Men of the Empire!" Shepard's voice carried over even the noise of her soldiers, who quieted when she raised Unbak Urk over her head. "Marienburg is not our city; her people have made that abundantly clear over the years. But today isn't about conquest; it isn't even about a magical artifact. No, today is about retribution!" Shepard thought back to what was left of Eliza's mother, and her voice shook with barely-restrained fury. "Innocent people were killed by the Dark Elves. There was no reason for this, other than for their sick amusement. We can't bring back those who died, but we can make sure that their killers are brought to justice for what they've done! I will not rest until the Dark Elves pay! Who will join me?"

As expected, Richter was the first to step forward, and raised his sword in salute. "I will, General!"

Michael and his Swordsmen raised their weapons as well. "So shall we!"

More and more soldiers joined in, until each man was filled with the same righteous fury as Shepard.

With a nudge, Stormwing pivoted to face the Dark Elves. "For Marienburg!"

The army roared back. "FOR MARIENBURG!"

Shepard leveled her axe as the Dark Elves advanced. "All cannons, fire!"

The Imperial line erupted as the artillery unleashed hell. Later, Imperial poets would say that it was the artillery's own way of cheering Shepard on. Cannonballs slammed into the Dark Elf force, killing dozens of warriors with every shot. Next to the Human army, the High Elves fired their own artillery, a collection of fragile-looking bolt throwers that hurled enormous spears, impaling any unfortunate Dark Elf that got in the way.

The Dark Elves were not stupid, however, and spread out their forces to avoid the worst of the artillery after the first barrage. Dark Riders, Elves on dark horses, raced ahead, intent on reaching the Imperials' front lines before the artillery had a chance to pull back. They fired crossbows as they rode, though only a few bolts hit anything; still, several of Shepard's men went down.

It was the High Elves who countered the enemy cavalry, firing volleys of arrows before sending out their own light cavalry, the Ellyrian Reavers. Covered by their archers, the Reavers fired their powerful bows before finishing off the rest of the Dark Riders with their spears.

"Whoever is commanding the army is no tactician," Shepard muttered to herself. If it had been her, she would have held the Dark Riders back, only sending them out when the crossbows were in effective range to cover them. Of course, she would rather die than be anything like the Dark Elves, so the point was moot.

Dealing with the Dark Riders had its drawback, however. The Dark Elves were advancing faster than the Imperials had expected, and the Dark Riders had divided their attention; at the rate the enemy was approaching, the Great Cannons weren't going to get another shot off. The Helblasters, however, were now in range, and fired everything they had; the smaller shot ripped through the advancing infantry. From Shepard's position in the air, it looked like the front line of the Dark Elves simply snapped back, albeit in multiple pieces.

The _Mako_ unleashed its own fury, scything down Dark Elves with its Heavy Repeaters and firing grapeshot from its smaller cannon as it backed up with the rest of the artillery. The Handgunners, along with their own Heavy Repeaters, picked up the slack with a withering barrage of their own. They were only able to get two volleys out before the Dark Elves got too close, forcing them to retreat behind the melee fighters.

Shepard, however, had her own firepower to add before the fight turned into a brawl. She had known that being high in the air would reduce the effectiveness of her repeater pistol. As such, she had built a repeater rifle, much like the ones that Locke's Outriders used, only to her exacting standards. She fired a long burst from her newest gun, killing a handful of crossbow-wielding Elves that were aiming at Michael's flock. At that point, it was time for the countercharge.

"Locke, Gregor!" Shepard urged Stormwing into a steep dive. "Now!"

Pistols and repeaters blazed, heralding the arrival of Locke's cavalry as they rode out around the infantry's left flank. The Dark Elves stumbled at the sudden counterattack, and the spearmen leading the charge were unprepared for the Knights of Ironrock that slammed into them. With grim war cries, the knights ripped apart any Elf they could reach, their heavy armor proof against all but the most accurate of strikes.

Stormwing let out a shriek that shook the very air as he swooped down into the Dark Elves, his talons and beak leaving a red ruin in his wake. Shepard fought just as hard, smashing aside spears with her new shield, while Unbak Urk all but obliterated whatever it struck.

Shepard had spent most of her life with a very strong hold over her emotions. It was rare that she ever lost control, and even rarer that she willingly gave in to her anger. Even during the Reaper War, she had saved her rage for Cerberus and its puppets, many of whom had _chosen_ to be monsters. Only when she had fought Batarians, during the years before the Reapers, had she even allowed a fraction of her anger to show.

But against the Dark Elves, she had no restraint. This was a society that had fallen to the lowest point, and inflicted needless cruelty, all of the sake of entertainment. The Skaven and the Greenskins killed because they wanted conquest and loot. Vampires killed because it was how they survived. Even the mortals who served Chaos, while they might have chosen the path willingly, had sold their souls and their free will to a power that used them. But the Dark Elves chose to be cruel, and continued to choose that path. This was an evil of the darkest kind, and Shepard rarely felt purer of purpose than when she destroyed evil.

Later on, Shepard would realize that this was the same kind of righteousness that Michael preached during her sermons. It would be one of the few times she not only respected religion, but actually supported it.

"Forward!" Shepard split a Witch Elf's skull when she tried to knock her off her saddle, while Stormwing tore apart another that tried to circle around him. "Kill them all!"

With the Dark Elves' charge on the Imperial line completely reversed, the Human infantry took the opportunity to take the fight to the enemy. Spears, swords, and halberds rose and fell, and blood spattered everywhere. The Dark Elves might have been taken by surprise, but they knew how to fight; soon, Human blood joined Elf on the ground, which quickly became a red mud.

Only the power of Parral and his Jade Wizards kept the Imperials from being overwhelmed by their superior opponents. Healing magic flowed, knitting together torn flesh and broken bones, though not everyone could be saved in time. Gettmann also threw in his considerable power; lightning struck the Dark Elves from behind the Imperial line, and every bolt was accompanied by cheers from the Humans.

Shepard put a bullet between the eyes of a Dark Elf, then urged Stormwing into the air once more. She needed to find the next part of the battle to join.

"General!" Shepard looked down to see a High Elf, a female mage on horseback, riding towards her. "Lord Teclis asks that you reinforce our lines! We have been flanked!"

Shepard studied the battlefield; while the Dark Elves had initially thrown everything they had at the Imperial force, they had actually sent only the first few ranks to tie up the Humans. The rest had swarmed towards the High Elves at the last second; clearly, the Dark Elves saw their counterparts as the greater threat.

Grudgingly, Shepard had to give the Dark Elf leader more credit; destroying the biggest threat was usually the smartest thing to do, unless the threat was only perceived. Of course, Shepard would have used artillery to pin down the weaker enemy while her main force advanced, thus saving lives, but it seemed that the Dark Elves didn't have much in the way of artillery. It was also likely that the Dark Elf commander simply didn't care about the lives lost.

"Gregor, I'm taking half of your knights!" Shepard waited for Gregor to give her a brief nod, then had one of his men blow a horn in a quick five-note burst. Nearly a hundred Ironrock Knights, mostly those that were in the second wave, broke off and rallied near the mage. "Show us where we need to go."

"Of course, General." The Elf bowed in her saddle, and as she did, Shepard noticed that she was bleeding heavily from a wound on her back. Her robes were quickly turning from white to red.

"You need to get healed." Shepard started looking for Parral, but the Elf shook her head.

"There is no time! Please, Lord Teclis is in danger of being cut off!" As she spoke, blood began to spill from her mouth; it had probably taken all of the mage's energy just to get here.

Shepard saw the fierce determination in her eyes. It was devotion that was born out of honest respect; she saw the same thing in all of her soldiers, and she knew that this woman would die for Teclis without a second thought. Part of her wanted to argue that the Elf's death wouldn't help anyone, but there was simply no time. The Dark Elves were too quick, and if the High Elf line broke, it would expose the Imperials to the Dark Elves' full might.

"Show us where to go, and then find a safe place to rest," Shepard ordered. She knew that the mage would soon bleed out, but her conscience practically forced her to give at least a token effort to save her.

"I will try, General." The Elf's smile was bloody, but it was also serene, like she was completely at peace with her imminent death. After all, she had delivered her message; the hard part was over for her.

With the mage leading them, Shepard and the knights headed to the High Elf lines; as Gregor had warned, the High Elves' overextension had left them vulnerable, and their flank was being hit hard by heavier cavalry.

These Dark Elves were not riding horses, however; it took Shepard's mind a moment to process that they were riding what looked like velociraptors!

 _Dinosaurs?_ She thought. _Actual fucking dinosaurs!? Goddammit, if I wasn't fighting right now, this would be one of the coolest things ever!_

Shaking her head clear of distractions, Shepard found Teclis, just behind a thin rank of heavily-armored Elves, all wielding enormous two-handed swords. At first, Shepard thought that Teclis hardly needed help; the Swordmasters were carving apart anything that came too close, and Teclis himself was turning whole regiments of Dark Elves into smoking corpses.

Shepard directed the knights to swing around and hit the enemy cavalry from the flank, while she took Stormwing into a dive that bowled over a dozen Dark Elves.

"I was told that you could use a hand," Shepard called out over the noise of combat.

Teclis looked a little pale, but was otherwise calm. "Ah, I see that Iryssa reached you in time. Where is she?"

Shepard glanced back; the mage was still on her horse, but from the way she was slumped over, it was clear that she was dead.

"I'm sorry," Shepard said, and she meant it. "She died."

Sorrow washed across Teclis' face for a moment, quickly replaced by a stoic mask. "I understand. Let us end this."

There was more going on than just him feeling bad about a friend's death; even Teclis couldn't hide his grief behind his clipped tone. Shepard made a note to ask—gently, of course—when this was over.

With Shepard and the Ironrock Knights supporting the flank, the High Elves were able to fall back in good order, until they were secured by the rest of the Imperial army. The maneuver wasn't without cost, however; many dead High Elves were left behind, the white cloth underneath their armor a stark contrast to the black-clad Dark Elves.

The High Elves showed their appreciation for the support by fighting even harder. Arrows rained down into the Dark Elves' back ranks, while Elven Spearmen provided a perfectly-orchestrated defense against enemy infantry. Every so often, Prince Orzin would sally forth with his Dragon Prince escort, slaughtering dozens of Dark Elves with every charge. They were even able to nearly kill the Hydra when it slammed into the High Elves' line; they pulled back to finish it off with a second charge, but the _Mako_ beat them to it, all but obliterating the Hydra's body with a well-aimed cannonball.

The other Imperials weren't letting the High Elves do all the work, either; they were making the Dark Elves pay for not taking them seriously, attacking with a ferocity that surprised their enemy. While many Humans were cut down by Dark Elf blades and arrows, nearly as many of them got back up, thanks to the Jade Wizards' magic. Gregor led one countercharge after another, he and his knights proving their worth with the trails of trampled and impaled corpses. Even without Shepard in their midst, the Greatswords fought just as hard under Richter's leadership, coordinating two or three warriors for one Dark Elf, ensuring that at least one blow would connect.

In the back ranks, Human and High Elf alike began to cheer as more and more Dark Elves fell.

…

Lethe was quick to realize that her foes were not going to break easily. It was obvious that the two armies had planned for the Dark Elves to attack from the city, and had arranged their defenses accordingly. Nearly two thousand warriors had died from bullets, arrows, and artillery, and that wasn't even counting the losses from the swirling melee.

But all was not lost; Lethe believed that if she could eliminate the leaders of both armies, it would shake their resolve, perhaps even cause them to rout. The Dark Elves still had superior numbers, though it was by a much slimmer margin than it had been at the beginning of the battle; with the enemy leaders dead, that would be enough to turn the tide in Lethe's favor.

It wasn't hard for Lethe to find the Human leader—the one flying around on the Griffon and holding the Dwarf axe was hard to miss. She would attack that one first.

"With me," she told her elite force, a score of Witch Elves and another of Har Ganeth Executioners. Both had been hard to acquire, requiring many of Lethe's carefully-garnered favors to be called in, but it seemed worth it now.

Using the main battle to screen her movements, Lethe and her elites worked their way closer to the Human general, who was busy butchering a dozen Darkshards before they could fire their crossbows.

"Wait for my spell to disable it," Lethe ordered. "Executioners, kill the beast; the rest of you, kill the rider."

Her words were hardly necessary; the Executioners were perfect for killing such a large target, and the Witch Elves could easily handle the Human when it was down. Still, after so much going wrong, Lethe needed to have a little more control.

After a moment spent gathering power, Lethe raised her staff and channeled her dark magic into a single bolt of destructive energy. With a whispered incantation, the magic hurtled toward the Human, who turned just in time to see it coming. Instinctively, the Human raised a strange shield to block the spell. Lethe smirked; her magic would tear through any physical defense.

Lethe's smile vanished when her spell did the same; to her, it looked like the magic was drawn into the black stone on the shield's center, and then consumed.

"That's not possible," she mumbled, and something snapped. "THAT'S NOT POSSIBLE!"

…

Shepard blinked once, then twice, as she processed what had just happened. While she had never been hit by a magical attack before, she was reasonably sure that whatever the Dark Elf had tried to use should have hurt. While Teclis had said that her shield would absorb spells, she had thought it would reduce the damage she would take; instead, it appeared to completely protect her!

"Calling it now," she said to herself, "this is the best shield ever!"

Of course, she had no intention of letting the Sorceress try her luck again. She waved Unbak Urk, getting the attention of the Ironrock Knights still fighting below her, as well as Prince Orzin and Teclis.

"She looks important!" Shepard yelled, leveling her axe at the Sorceress.

"She is!" Teclis shouted back. "Prince, we must take the fight to the enemy!"

"Clear us a path, Loremaster," Orzin commanded. "We shall do the rest."

A moment later, Teclis unleashed a massive blast of magical power, one that scattered part of the Dark Elf line and left only shredded corpses behind.

"Now is the time!" Orzin waved his sword over his head. "Dragon Princes, charge! For Ulthuan!"

"Come on!" Shepard yelled to the knights, "Let's finish this!"

The horses the High Elves rode were faster than their Imperial counterparts, so Orzin and his elites slammed into the Dark Elves first. Their horses trampled over several Witch Elves each, and their lances killed more; Orzin's sword cleaved through the Witch Elf champion without slowing his charge into the Executioners. The Ironrock Knights quickly finished off the last of the Witch Elves, while Shepard fired her repeater into several Executioners, then holstered it when Stormwing swooped towards the Sorceress.

The Dark Elf fired another spell, but Shepard's shield again absorbed the magic before Stormwing attacked. His beak lashed out and nearly severed the Sorceress' arm; it only stayed attached by a few gory strands. As the Sorceress collapsed, screaming, Shepard jumped from the saddle and landed by the dying Elf; she said something in her native tongue, but Shepard's translator wasn't built to handle the Elven language.

"Yeah, fuck you, too," Shepard said, then decapitated her with a single blow from Unbak Urk.

Lethe's own plan was used against her; in her death, the Dark Elves began to break. First it was those who had been closest to her, but word quickly spread to the rest of the army. With no real loyalty to the Sorceress, the Dark Elves turned back, hoping to escape on their ships. What they did not know was that Jiro had already escaped with the fleet. It would take several weeks, but the Dark Elf host would eventually be hunted down and exterminated by the Empire.

"Good, another _druchii_ dead," Orzin growled; he sat on his horse, not far from Shepard.

"Did you hear what she said?" Shepard asked, warily watching as the Dark Elves retreated.

"I did." Orzin shrugged. "She kept saying 'that's not possible'."

From the desperate look in the Sorceress' eyes before she died, Shepard decided that it probably didn't matter. "Whatever. We're done here."

Orzin nodded. "Yes, I believe we are."

…

If there was one thing Shepard hated about winning a battle, it was dealing with the aftermath. Hundreds of her men were dead or wounded; the smell of blood and death was everywhere, and though the healers' tent was moved further away from the camp to keep away disease, an unfortunate change in the wind was making many people sick. The wind also carried the sound of moans and screams to their ears; it was even worse than usual, because the Humans could hear the same noises coming from the High Elf camp.

Although Shepard could handle worse, she tried to drown it out by keeping herself busy. She tried not to think about the _other_ reason she had locked herself away, even though she knew that she would have to handle it very soon. She was going over reports for almost an hour after the battle was over, making notes that she would have to include in her own report to the Emperor, when Richter rang the small bell hanging from her tent.

"General, do you have a moment?" Shepard glanced up and saw Richter's grim expression.

"Let me guess," Shepard sighed. "Eliza?"

"She has to know," Richter said quietly.

"Yeah…" Shepard sighed again. "I'll take care of it. Can you get her? And Locke, too, while you're at it. I'll tell Gregor to take over until we're back."

Richter nodded curtly. "I'll assemble some men to search for survivors while we… retrieve Eliza's mother."

Just the thought of the dead outnumbering the living was enough to make Shepard feel sick; she would have sent troops into the city to look for survivors sooner, but her army was exhausted, and though Imperial reinforcements were on their way to secure Marienburg, they were still several hours out.

Shepard rubbed her eyes, then stood. "Thank you, Richter. Let's get this over with."

Richter saluted and left the tent. Shepard closed her eyes and held her head in her hands.

 _I'm so sorry, Eliza._

…

For all her social inexperience, Eliza was not incapable of reading between the lines. She had already realized that something was wrong just by how tired Shepard seemed, and how she was treating Eliza like she was about to fall apart.

Before Eliza could confront Shepard, she was distracted by several others who were joining the group that was entering Marienburg. Teclis, Orzin, and their personal guard, had elected to accompany them.

"I wanted to save this city," Teclis said. "We failed, and I want to remind myself of what happens when we fail."

Shepard had smiled, but it was a bitter thing; Eliza was so focused on the graceful, musical beauty of Teclis' voice that she failed to notice how Orzin scoffed.

Eliza sat behind Locke as he rode towards the city; most of the group, which was joined by Michael and Richter, was on horseback, save for Shepard, who flew on ahead on Stormwing. Both Shepard and the Griffon were waiting patiently at the same hole in the wall that Locke had entered before. With her arms wrapped around him, Eliza could feel Locke tensed as they rode past the bodies of his men.

"We'll make sure they get proper burials," Shepard said quietly.

Locke nodded, but didn't say anything. Eliza, not sure _what_ to say, just held onto him a little tighter.

"I'll scout ahead with the Elves," Shepard announced. "We'll make sure that there aren't any surprises waiting for us."

The rest of the soldiers nodded and rested their hands on their weapons. Eliza, who wasn't a soldier, didn't really understand that an enemy might still be around, even though they had been defeated; like most civilians, when she heard of tales of battle, she assumed that the enemy simply ran away or disappeared when they lost.

While Michael said a quick prayer to the fallen, Eliza took the opportunity to really look at Marienburg; most of the fires had died out, thanks to the damp sea air, but a few were still blazing, and thick smoke hovered above them. Still, not counting the blood and smoke, she could understand why her mother would want to live here; the city really didn't seem as bad as its reputation made it out to be.

The sound of hooves against the cobblestone street caught everyone's attention; it was one of the Elves.

"It is safe to move ahead," the Elf said archly. "There is no sign of danger."

With the messenger to guide them, the Humans made their way through the city, gingerly stepping around or over corpses in their way. With every dead body they came across, Eliza's fears grew worse; she tried to tell herself that her mother was fine, probably terribly frightened, but nothing a hug from her daughter wouldn't cure. Still, she had heard that Dark Elves did terrible things to captives; the thought of her mother getting anywhere near a Dark Elf sent shivers down her spine.

"There they are," Richter muttered, nodding at the distant shape of Stormwing; with his helmet on, Eliza never saw him glancing in her direction the entire time.

Shepard had her own helmet off when they arrived, so Eliza clearly saw the anger, the grief, and the disgust on her face. When she turned to face her, Eliza also saw the sympathy. A part of her was almost certain that she knew what was about to happen; the rest of her refused to believe it.

And then Shepard spoke. "Eliza, I'm so sorry…"

…

Shepard had seen almost every Human reaction to tragedy. She had seen outright denial, sobbing, misplaced anger, even irrational laughter. When Eliza staggered over to her mother's body, there was very little to see; she was trembling slightly, her eyes were wide, and she had gone very pale, but that was it. Shepard knew she was just trying to keep it bottled up, even if she didn't want to; Eliza was shy and introverted, and didn't want to people to see her so emotional.

"The Dark Elves will have taken captives onto their ships," Teclis said quietly, by Shepard's side. "But they are beyond our reach, and even if we were to somehow catch up to their fleet, they would sooner execute their prisoners before handing them over to us."

Shepard nodded slowly. "Do we consider these ones lucky, then?"

"No." Shepard was surprised by the intensity in Teclis' voice. "Any death caused by malice, no matter how fast or slow, is a tragedy. All of these people are to be mourned, for they had so much life in them."

"Yeah. They did." Shepard sighed when Eliza began to cradle her mother's head in her lap. "I still hate that this happened to her; I mean, I hate that it happened at all, but Eliza…"

Teclis nodded. "You care for her. While we may lament the deaths of innocents, it is even worse when those we love are hurting and we cannot help them."

Shepard took a step towards the girl that was like a little sister to her, only for Locke to beat her to it. The young noble knelt down near Eliza and put an arm around her shoulders; Eliza still didn't cry, but she did lean into his embrace.

Seeing that she wasn't needed at the moment, Shepard turned to Teclis. "I'm sorry about your friend."

Teclis closes his eyes. "So am I. Iryssa was a gifted student, and I considered her a friend; she and I spent much time discussing ancient lore. I will miss that in the future."

"With all due respect, _Lord_ Teclis, please stop your simpering." Orzin's words caused Teclis' eyes to narrow, while Shepard outright scowled. "This was a battle in a war that has lasted longer than any of our people have been alive. Losses are inevitable. All who choose the path of the warrior will end that path in blood; if you truly must grieve, do so for yourself, for you were the one who brought that girl onto the battlefield."

"Iryssa volunteered," Teclis said, his expression dark, "I did not ask her; in fact, I tried to dissuade her."

"Another failure of yours." Orzin sneered. "Perhaps her death might have been worth something if she had died defending Ulthuan, but all she did was die for a city full of barbarians and animals."

Teclis glared, but Shepard was already moving; before even she had registered what she was doing, she grabbed Orzin by his gorget, pulled him in close, and slammed her armored fist into his face with enough force that he flew back several feet.

"Shut. The fuck. _Up_ ," Shepard hissed. She stormed up to the prone Elf and planted her boot on his chest; some of Orzin's warriors made a halfhearted attempt to stop her, but Teclis warned them back with a single look. "You are a soldier, and this was a war; people are always going to die in a war. Maybe they're yours, maybe not, or maybe they're some people caught in the middle. What makes us better than the monsters we fight is that we remember who was lost, and try to do better next time." She reached down and grabbed Orzin by the chin and forced him to look her in the eye. "If you treat deaths as just a number, you don't deserve to lead men into battle."

Orzin stared at her, completely shocked; he didn't resist as Shepard hauled him to his feet and shoved him in the direction of his soldiers.

"Treat your wounded," Shepard said, this time to Teclis, and though her voice was still rough, there was no fury behind it. "And then get out, and tell whoever's in charge of your people that we aren't animals or barbarians. We're Humans, and we take insults as a personal challenge."

Strangely enough, Teclis smiled. "It is people like you who forever strengthen my faith in your race, General. Never lose that fire; it will guide you in your darkest hour."

…

The Imperial response to the sacking of Marienburg was to send in three more armies; one was from Reikland and led by the Reiksguard, another was from Middenland, and the third, last to arrive, was from Nordland. The latter army was led by Theodric Gausser, the Elector Count of Nordland, and was the nominal ruler of Marienburg, thanks to an ancient treaty. He, along with every other ruler of Nordland since Marienburg's secession, had tried to reclaim the city, but had been repelled each time. Gausser was eager to finally conquer and rebuild the valuable port city 'for the Empire'.

No one commented on how Gausser greedily eyed the treasuries when he toured the damaged city.

There were still a few hundred citizens of Marienburg that had survived the Dark Elf attack, but they were in no shape to resist the Empire's forces as they swept through the city. It would take time, but the Marienburg survivors knew that their beloved city would be Imperial once again.

The High Elves departed shortly after the Imperial reinforcements arrived, though their farewell was far from warm. Word of Orzin's arrogance and callous behavior had spread throughout Shepard's army, and it was hard to like the aloof Elves, especially when they were led by someone who was the polar opposite of their beloved General.

Morale lifted slightly when the story of how Shepard had punched Orzin the face; that was just what everyone needed, especially when thousands of mutilated bodies were prepared for burial in a new graveyard. While the soldiers were glad to have defeated the enemy and secured another shard, it was humbling to see so many people that they were unable to save.

For the sake of morale, Shepard buried her anger and grief under work and sheer willpower. After giving several reports to Gausser and other Imperial leaders, she led her army south; first to Altdorf to deposit the shard, and then to Nuln.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, the Seneschal of Nuln was greeted by cheering crowds, who welcomed the army as conquering heroes. Shepard allowed her soldiers to bask in the glory, real or otherwise, to take their minds off of what they had seen in Marienburg. For herself, Shepard only paid a brief visit to Emmanuelle, and then elected to go home, but she wasn't going alone.

"You're coming with me," was all Shepard said to Eliza, and then gently pulled the girl along.

Over the last couple of days of travel, Shepard had become more and more worried for her former apprentice. She didn't sleep, barely ate, and sat around in a daze. The only sign of life came from how her hands were always clenched; it showed that she was still fighting to keep herself under control.

Eliza's protests were halfhearted. "General, I can go home."

Shepard didn't even bother to respond to that. She kept a strong grip on Eliza's shoulder as they walked up to Shepard's door.

Gertrude, who had been watching David while the two were gone, opened the door when Shepard knocked. "Good evening, General. It is good to see that you have returned."

"Thanks, Gertrude." Shepard forced a smile. "How was David?"

"Sleeping, mostly." Gertrude smiled. "When he was awake, he seemed to be looking for you."

Shepard's smile became a little more genuine. "I'm glad to hear he missed me as much as I missed him. You can go home, Gertrude; we'll take over from here."

Gertrude curtsied. "Very well, General."

Shepard gently forced Eliza to sit in a chair and waited until Gertrude was gone before relaxing. "Stay there," she told Eliza sternly. "I don't want to come back and find you snuck out."

Shepard waited until Eliza nodded, and then headed to the nursery, where David was waiting. As always, his face lit up when his mother returned, and Shepard wouldn't have been surprised if she had the same look on her own face.

"Hey, little man." Shepard picked up her son and held him close. "I'm sorry I left again. No hard feelings?"

David burbled happily, his tiny hands gripping her shirt with all of his baby strength.

"I'll take that as a yes." Shepard kissed the top of his head. "Now, I've got a job for you. Think you can do it?"

"Ah!"

"Good answer." Shepard stroked his cheek. "Eliza is really sad. I need you to help me make her better."

"Ah."

With David in her arms, Shepard returned to where Eliza still sat. It worried Shepard that Eliza didn't react to the baby that she loved almost as much as his mother. With one hand still holding a tiny fistful of Shepard's shirt, David's other arm flailed in Eliza's direction.

"It looks like I wasn't the only one he missed," Shepard said quietly.

Eliza looked up, her eyes dull, and her fists trembling. "Hello."

David made a confused-sounding burble; he wasn't used to Eliza sounding so… dead. For that matter, neither was Shepard, and she didn't like it.

"Come with me." Shepard led Eliza upstairs to her room; once she put David in his crib, she stood in front of the girl. "I know what you're going through."

Eliza blinked. "What?"

"I know what it's like to lose a parent; both parents, actually." Shepard closed her eyes as the memories came to the surface. "They were murdered in front of me. The pain never completely goes away."

Eliza barely moved. "Why are you telling me this?"

Shepard put her hands on Eliza's shoulders. "Because you need someone who's been where you are now. And because I can tell that you're keeping everything inside, and that's not healthy. You _need_ to let it all out; whether you need to cry, hit something, or write a journal, is up to you, but if you don't let yourself feel something, you're going to explode."

"I can't…" Eliza shook her head. "I just… can't. I lost my mother, and if I start thinking about it, I might—"

Shepard cut her off when she grabbed her in a tight hug. She didn't say anything, didn't move, just held her, and tried to convey all the strength she had into the girl.

Eliza was still for a very long time. Finally, she sniffled, and she began to tremble. Her shaking arms slowly returned the hug, while tears began to drop onto Shepard's shirt.

"I'm sorry," Eliza mumbled.

"Don't be," Shepard said quietly. "Just let it all out."

And she did. Eliza cried and bawled, screamed and sobbed, until the strength left her body and her throat became sore. By the time she had returned to just shaking, Shepard had moved her to the bed, her shirt soaked with tears.

"I don't…" Eliza coughed and grimaced at the hoarseness of her voice, and gratefully accepted the cup of water that Shepard gave her. "I don't know what to do now."

Shepard sat down next to her. "Now, you heal. It'll take time, but you _will_ heal from this. The pain will never go away; sometimes, it'll even feel worse. But you'll be able to handle life."

Eliza's glasses had fallen off during her episode, but her vision was still good enough to notice a small, blurry arm waving at her. Smiling, she reached out and let David awkwardly grab her hand.

"I don't want to go home," she whispered, not looking at Shepard.

"Then don't." Shepard put an arm around her shoulders. "Stay here for as long as you want. Stay here for the rest of your life, if that's what you need."

"I don't want that." Eliza blinked and hurried to explain. "I mean, I'd like to stay here for a while, but if I stay here forever, I might be replacing my mother with you, and, uh…"

Shepard gave her a very stern look. "I can't be your mother. You and I both know that that wouldn't be healthy." She smirked. "Besides, I am way too young to be your mom." Her tone grew serious again as she hugged Eliza. "But, if you want a sister, I'm here."

Eliza blinked. "Really?"

Shepard nodded. "Honestly, for a while, you've been like the little sister that I never had. And David probably already thinks of you as an aunt, so…" she held out her arms. "Welcome to the family."

Eliza hugged her tightly, and the tears began to fall again. Not all of these tears, however, were from sadness.

…

Deep in the forests of Sylvania, Henrietta von Carstein held her blade to the neck of her latest challenger, a Vampire of significant power. If Henrietta had been just a bit slower, it would be Zacharias the Everliving leading the undead host, not her.

"I yield," Zacharias said, loud enough for the witnesses to hear.

"Excellent." Henrietta withdrew her sword and sheathed it in one fluid motion. "Your forces will be a welcome addition to my own."

Zacharias looked around at the tens of thousands of Zombies, Ghouls, Skeleton Warriors, and other undead horrors that Henrietta had under her banner. It was a force of undeath that hadn't been seen since the days of Vlad von Carstein.

"I must admit," he said as he rose, his wounds already healing, "when I set out to come here, I thought that I would need years to assemble a host half this size."

Henrietta glanced at the Undertaker and the many apprentices he'd gathered, and then at the Lahmian Vampires. Between all of them, controlling so many undead was manageable, if not easy.

"I have had the motivation to be quick," Henrietta said.

"So I have heard." Zacharias crossed his arms. "You must have emptied most of the dead of Sylvania."

"As well as many graveyards near the border." Henrietta smiled, but there was no joy behind it. "We will need every body we can raise if we hope to conquer the Empire, and you will be my Champion in the coming war."

"Me?" Zacharias looked suspicious. "Not five minutes ago, I was trying to kill you."

"I could say that for half of my inner circle." Henrietta shrugged. "If you were truly the better warrior, I would be dead, but I have my goal, and I will not stop until it is realized."

"I am assuming that conquering the Empire is part of that goal, then?" Zacharias waited until Henrietta nodded. "And when is that to begin?"

Henrietta's teeth shone in the moonlight. "Soon."

…

Amidst the dust of a dead kingdom, an ancient power stirred. It sensed the rising might of an enemy it had sworn to destroy. Vitality flowed through withered limbs, empowering a husk with strength and beauty once again.

With a single command, an army began to rise. Soon, it would march north, and retribution would be had.

 **Well, that… was hard. Between college, being sick a lot, and just not wanting to write this chapter, this was just hard. Don't go thinking that I don't want to write this story, that's not the case. I just didn't want to write the emotional stuff, which made me really sad. I like Eliza, and most of you apparently do as well, so putting her through this shit was not fun.**

 **I hope you all like the battle, even if it was short. Dark Elves are a little like Skaven; they're not really all that loyal to their leaders, and once they bite the dust, they're likely to book it. Sadly for most of them, Jiro decided to take their only means of escape. Elves might be skilled, but these ones are trapped on the Empire's coast; they won't last long. Oh, and yes, Jiro will return. I like some of these original villains.**

 **And, as I said, there was the stuff with Eliza. I really, really don't want to have to do that to her again… so I won't!**

 **Hey, Henrietta, haven't seen you in a while. Nice to see you again… sort of. Shepard's nemesis is about to take the stage! By the way, Zacharias the Everliving is actually canon, but with Henrietta on the rise, his canon campaign is over before it began.**

 **Finally, that thing at the end? Again, Warhammer fans will have probably already figured it out. For everyone else… get ready for quite the war!**

 **Next Chapter: The dead walk, and Shepard will have to join forces with old friends and terrifying new allies if the Empire is to weather the storm.**

 **Second in infamy only to Castle Drakenhof, Hel Fenn is the center of Muffin activity in Sylvania.**


	24. Bitter Harvest, Part 1

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. IF YOU SOMEHOW HAVE SMELL-O-VISION, I SUGGEST YOU TURN IT OFF. ZOMBIES STINK.**

 **You know, at first glance, being a Necromancer sounds cool. I mean, you have an army of completely loyal minions that will never run away, and every enemy you kill gives you a new soldier. However, I think the reason most Necromancers go crazy is not because the power corrupts them, but because there's only so much decayed-flesh smell you can take before you go nuts.**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 24

Bitter Harvest, Part 1

" _I never should have ignored that bloodsucking bitch. That was my biggest mistake, and I have to live with the consequences. The least of which are the nightmares. I still have them, even now."—General Alexia Shepard_

…

When the people of the Empire thought about Alexia Shepard, they usually pictured her in armor, leading the Empire to glorious victory. Some painters had already captured her image—albeit imagined and highly exaggerated—atop Stormwing, with the sun rising behind her.

What people didn't imagine was a woman wearing a simple robe, sitting on the floor of her bedroom, making cooing noises in front of a baby in the early morning.

"Come on, David," Shepard called sweetly. "You can do it! Say 'Mama'!"

David saw his mother's smiling face and just giggled happily. He then crawled over to her and flopped into her lap. Shepard kissed his head, then fell onto her back and placed him on her stomach.

As much as she loved these quiet moments, Shepard couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. David had woken her up with baby-noises, but in her semi-awake state, she thought she heard him say his first word. For the next hour, she had tried coaxing it out of him, but to no avail.

At least he was happy, Shepard mused; David had started teething, which was causing both of them all kinds of discomfort. He had also tried standing a few times, so it wouldn't be long before he started walking. If she could get him to say his first words, David would have the whole package.

A knock on her door pulled her out of her thoughts. "Come in, Eliza!"

"Good morning, Alexia," Eliza said as she entered the room, then stopped and blinked. "Um, why are you on the floor?"

Shepard raised an eyebrow at her, then stuck her tongue out. "Why aren't you?"

Eliza rolled her eyes, then smoothed out her own robe before sitting next to Shepard. "Happy now?"

David immediately crawled off of his mother and towards his 'aunt', which made Shepard pout. "Apparently, _he_ is."

Eliza scooped the one-year-old up into her arms and played with his tiny hands. Shepard took the opportunity to study the young woman. In the months after Marienburg, Eliza had slowly gone from crying every few hours, to tentatively interacting with people again, and even going back to work in recent weeks. She still lived in Shepard's home, but she was healing, and Shepard had even convinced her to call her by her first name, at least when they were being so informal.

Shepard sighed. "As fun as this is, I think we need to get dressed; we have a long day ahead of us. Were you going to work on the new engine, or was I?"

"You were," Eliza said. "And then you were going to check on your 'civics projects'. I'm checking the next batch of handguns for the Middenland shipment."

"Right, right." Shepard got to her feet, then took David back so that Eliza would have an easier time getting up. "We're not working on anything with fumes today, so let's bring David in. It's been a while since I brought him to work."

Eliza smiled brightly; even though she was doing better, she occasionally still needed some comfort, and if she couldn't get a hug from her 'sister', then she would spend a few minutes with David.

"I thought that would cheer you up." Shepard grinned. "Go on, get going."

"Okay!" Eliza skipped out the door, leaving Shepard alone with her son.

After putting David back in his crib, Shepard got dressed. While she was brushing her hair, she noticed that it was getting a little long for her taste, now going past her shoulders; as she pulled her hair back to braid it, she also noticed a miniscule amount of grey among the red.

"Great, I'm getting old," she huffed. She wasn't really complaining; she still had the face and body of a woman ten years younger, even after all she'd been through, either with the Reapers, or the three years in this world. A few grey hairs and extra scars were hardly anything to whine about.

David, hearing his mother speak, turned his head. "Ah!"

Shepard tried to scowl, but failed; David never failed to make her happy, even on her worst days. "I'm pretty sure at least one of these grey hairs is your fault, kiddo."

David only giggled and bounced up and down.

"All right, hold your horses." Shepard finished getting ready and picked him up. "Ready to go see science?"

"Ah!"

…

"There you are!" Locke grinned as he sat next to Richter. "I have been searching the whole barracks for you, Sergeant."

Richter grunted as he polished his sword. "Did you need something?"

"Ooh, so grouchy this morning!" Locke's smile didn't fade. "Were the troops' morning drills not up to your standard, my friend?"

"No, they're as determined as ever, even the new recruits." Richter's expression darkened. "I've just been on edge lately, and I don't know why. Maybe my thoughts have been drifting back to Marienburg, but I've just got a bad feeling."

Locke's smile wavered at the mention of Marienburg; even though it had been a victory, few of those who fought there liked thinking about it. For Locke, he was reminded of the men under his command that had died, as well as poor Eliza's mother.

"Well, it's only been a few months," he said, trying to sound reasonable. "That sort of thing doesn't fade so easily; I still have nightmares from Middenheim!"

"I know," Richter snapped, "I'm not some fresh-faced recruit that needs coddling." He sighed. "I'm sorry, you don't deserve that. It just feels that, after a little peace, we get dragged into another mess. Our luck won't hold forever, you know."

Locke nodded and slung an arm over the other man's shoulders. "It just needs to hold until we retire, and I think most of us will do just that when all the shards are found and the General finds a way home."

If Locke had hoped to cheer Richter up, he failed; it was no secret that Shepard wanted to use the shards to go home, although she did not say where that home was. The idea that Shepard would one day leave them was a disheartening prospect to all of her soldiers.

Finally, Locke sighed. "Come on, why don't you go talk to her? If she's having a bad feeling about things, I'll personally get the army ready for battle."

Richter's mouth twitched upwards. "Does that mean that I won't have to do all the work, for once?"

Locke grinned widely. "That's the spirit! Come on, up you get, and we'll visit our glorious leader."

With some good-natured grumbling, Richter followed Locke out of the barracks and towards Shepard's primary workshop, which was next to her first factory. Both men kept a wary distance from Stormwing, who was napping near the door.

"I'll never understand it," Locke muttered. "The General can ride that beast without a problem, but she hates a good, honest horse?"

"I've heard her talk about saddle-sores," Richter said back. "She doesn't get them on the Griffon."

"That doesn't even make sense." Still, Locke dropped the topic when he saw who was with Shepard in the workshop. "Ah, Eliza! How wonderful to see you today!"

Eliza smiled back at both men, though Richter noted with some amusement that her gaze lingered on Locke a little longer. "Hello, Elias, Sergeant; it's good to see you as well."

"Hey, guys!" Shepard waved her hand, the only part of her that was visible, since she was behind a stack of books. "Anything I should know, or are you just here to visit?"

"As wonderful as it is to see you, General, I actually wanted to pay Eliza a visit." Locke revealed a flower, one that Richter swore he hadn't had. "Though I believe Sergeant Richter wanted to talk to you; he's been grouchy today."

Richter tried to swat him, but Locke had already stepped out of range and handed the flower to a blushing Eliza.

Shepard stuck her head around her workstation and grinned at the budding couple. "All right, you kids go have fun; Eliza, you've done your work for today, so don't argue. Richter, stay here for a bit, okay?"

"We shall return soon, General!" Locke held out his hand to Eliza, who shyly took it, and the two left.

Richter shook his head, then walked towards Shepard. "Did you need something from me, General?"

Shepard was hunched over a small tub of grey paste; off to the side was a set of beakers and leftovers from various chemicals and reagents. She took a small, shaped stick with bristles on one end, the kind that many people used to scrub their teeth after a meal, and scooped up a tiny amount of paste onto the bristles.

"Hang on, give me a second." Shepard eyed the paste for a moment, then stuck it into her mouth.

Richter did a double-take; of all the things Shepard had made, he'd never expected her to create something edible!

Shepard held up one finger to keep him from doing anything, then began brushing her teeth. After a minute, she gargled the foamy paste, and then spat it into a nearby bucket.

"Ha!" Shepard grinned and idly twirled the brush. "I just invented toothpaste."

Richter blinked. "Um… what?"

"Fluoride, among other stuff," Shepard explained, holding up the tub of paste. "It'll keep teeth healthier and make them last longer."

Richer nodded slowly; Shepard had commented on the poor level of medical care in the Empire, but had been more focused on protecting the Empire first, before she could get around to improving it. Apparently, she was getting around to it now.

"Is this going to be common?" Richter asked.

"I'll have to sell it in small amounts at first." Shepard made a face. "But once it gets more popular with the nobles, I'll be able to produce enough to sell it to everyone else."

"You talk about the nobles like they're something foreign," Richter said. "You know that you're a noble too, right? Being Seneschal of Nuln and all?"

Shepard grimaced. "Don't remind me. I'm running out of excuses to avoid all those fancy meetings." She shook her head. "Anyway, what did you want to talk about?"

"Nothing specific." Richter smiled when he noticed David sleeping in a crib in the corner, then turned back to Shepard. "I've just had a bad feeling all day, like something is going to happen."

Shepard closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "All right."

Richter blinked, surprised that Shepard wasn't dismissing his feeling outright. "Um, so, what do we do?"

"There's no obvious danger, and we might just be paranoid." She glowered at him. "Well, _now_ I might be paranoid, thanks to you. Anyway, step up patrols around the city, just in case; if anyone asks, we've been quiet for a while, and we're helping out the city guard."

Richter saluted. "Yes, General."

He started to leave, but he heard Shepard step in the direction of her son. "So much for the nice day, huh, kid?"

…

Henrietta stood atop the crumbling walls of Drakenhof Castle and surveyed her army. It was a force the likes of which hadn't been seen since the days of Vlad von Carstein, and it payed fealty only to her—tens of thousands of Zombies and Skeleton Warriors, thousands of Ghouls and their ilk, hundreds of undead cavalry, as well as countless bats and other undead beasts. There were also several Wight Kings that carried banners bearing her personal heraldry, a cracked skull, surrounded by wilted thorns.

At the forefront of her army were her lieutenants, all of them eager to finally be unleashed upon the living. Sitting atop his Zombie Dragon was her second, Zacharias the Everliving, and he saluted with his sword when he saw her look upon him. Visharos roared, and was echoed by his Ghouls. The Undertaker and his acolytes bowed low; some of the showier ones even made a few nearby undead do the same. Leandra, the most powerful of the Lahmian Vampires—after Henrietta had beaten into her and the other female Vampires the need for armor and weapons—gracefully curtsied, as if she was at a ball, not a staging ground.

"Today, it begins!" Henrietta raised one of her swords over her head. "Today, the world of the living will remember why it fears death! Begin the march! For victory and vengeance!"

The undead host let out a cacophony of roars, hisses, and moans, and then turned towards the Empire. Henrietta nodded in satisfaction, then pulled out the tags she kept in a pouch on her belt; she stared at the tags with utter hatred.

"You took the one thing that made me happy, Alexia Shepard." Henrietta snarled. "Now, I'll burn your whole world down around you. You will die, broken in body and spirit, but not before I make you grovel like the worm you are!"

…

After confessing her rising sense of dread to Emmanuelle, who promised to raise the alertness of Wissenland's standing forces, Shepard asked Eliza to take David home for the day. She would return later, after she held a brief council of war with her officers.

"It's a little premature, don't you think?" Gregor asked. "We're not even sure what's coming, or even ifsomething _is_ coming!"

Shepard calmly raised an eyebrow. "When is anything _not_ trying to kill us all?"

Gregor chuckled and conceded the point; just a month earlier, a huge army of Greenskins had been driven back from the northern provinces, thanks in large part to the Heavy Repeaters that had been purchased by the Elector Counts there. Shepard's weapons had been instrumental in thinning out the monsters' ranks, leaving their leader open to an attack by the Knights Panther. The Orc warlord had been killed by the Knights' own Grand Master, and the feat was so great that other Grand Masters, including Gregor, had been invited to a victory celebration.

"Anyway, this is just a precaution," Shepard continued. "Right now, we're just going on Richter's instincts, and I'm inclined to believe him."

"You should." Everyone, even Shepard, jumped at the unexpected voice; Richter had actually drawn his sword before he realized who was there.

"Gettmann!" Shepard couldn't decide if she wanted to hug the Wizard, or punch him. "I figured you'd show up if something was really bad. Let me guess: another shard?"

Gettmann shook his head, his mouth set in a grim line. "No, General; I was sent to you because we have become aware of an invasion from the east. The Empire is in peril, and we all must fight to save it from annihilation."

"We're being invaded?" Shepard immediately glanced at the nearest map. "By who? Orcs? Ogres?"

Richter clenched his eyes shut. "Please don't be Chaos, please don't be Chaos…"

"It is none of those." Gettmann's grip on his staff tightened. "The dead of Sylvania rise again. An army the likes of which hasn't been seen in centuries is marching west; the Emperor is calling for every province to meet the undead, before their numbers become even greater."

Shepard paled; she hadn't fought against the undead since she arrived in this world, and it brought up plenty of bad memories. It also reminded her of something that she had pushed to the back of her mind.

 _Could this be Henrietta?_ She thought. _She was responsible for the attack on Middenheim, but there was nothing from her since. If she's been biding her time since then, building her forces… shit, this could be really bad._

She took a deep breath. "Where are we being deployed?"

Gettmann looked down at the map, then pointed. "Stirland, not far from Wurtbad."

Gregor frowned. "That's near where Ironrock Keep once stood."

"Indeed." Gettmann closed his eyes. "If the undead are not halted, they will reach Wissenland within two weeks' time."

 _How could they be moving so fast?_ Shepard almost slapped herself at the question. _Oh, right. Zombies don't need to rest._

"Since the Ironrock Knights are familiar with the area, and we have fought there before, the Emperor has commanded that General Shepard lead our force as an advance party." Gettmann ignored the incredulous looks he was getting. "We need only take a measure of the foe, and slow the vanguard long enough for Talabecland and Stirland to mobilize their forces."

Once Shepard was certain that she wasn't being sent on a suicide mission, she studied the map. "If Stirland can help us bog the undead down, Talabecland can hit them from the north, Averland can swing around and attack from the south, and Wissenland can reinforce us from behind."

Gregor nodded in agreement. "We could keep the undead trapped in a single pocket."

"That would give my colleagues among the Light College time to reinforce us as well," Parral added. "Their magic is particularly effective against the undead."

"The northern provinces won't be able to offer much aid," Locke said thoughtfully. "The barbarians to the north might notice a reduction of the garrison and try to take advantage of the situation."

"None of that will mean diddly if we can't keep the undead contained," Shepard said. "Ready the men. We move out within the hour, and have the troops carry enough supplies for two days' march; the supply train will have to catch up."

Michael turned to her. "Will we make it in time, General?"

Shepard stared at the map. "We have to try."

…

Henrietta laughed as the screams reached her ears; another village was razed, and though it was barely a hamlet, it was another few dozen corpses added to her army, and fresh blood for the Vampires.

"My Lady, you summoned?" Henrietta glanced at Leandra, who bowed her head submissively. "What do you desire?"

"Stop your posturing," Henrietta snapped, "I have no use for it. Have your spies reported anything new?"

While Henrietta had no patience for subtle courtly machinations, she did appreciate the Lahmians' use as spies. Several of the lesser Vampires had spent a great deal of time monitoring the Empire, and searching for any information Henrietta could use against Shepard. While it was hard to do the former, as the Empire was vast and the Vampires were few, the latter task was fairly easy, thanks to Shepard's fame.

"An army under General Shepard marches from Nuln," Leandra reported. "They will intercept us within the week."

Henrietta nodded. "Send our vanguard to engage them; our Necromancers need time to raise the dead of Stirland to our banner."

Leandra looked concerned. "You would send the vanguard alone, my Lady? Without support, they will not last long."

"They do not have to." Henrietta grinned, showing off her bloodied fangs. "I _want_ that woman to survive, because I am not yet ready to kill her. For now, I will be content knowing that she comprehends just how hopelessly outnumbered she is." She slowly licked the blood from her fangs. "Her despair will whet my appetite, and dishearten her soldiers."

Leandra bowed again, lower this time, so that Henrietta would not see her doubtful expression. "As you command."

"One more thing," Henrietta said before Leandra left. "Has the other situation changed?"

"No, my Lady." This, at least, made Leandra smile; the scheme was deviously cruel, and she loved it. "This task could be completed by the least of us." She glanced over at Visharos, who was gorging on a dead villager. "Well, save for that one."

Henrietta's own smile was almost happy. "Excellent. When you told me about that development, I realized that my vengeance could not be any sweeter." She waved at a small group of terrified mortals that had yet to be slain. "Your reward; drink your fill."

Leandra bowed a final time and hurried to feed; the Vampires had quickly run out of mortals in Sylvania to feast upon, and had grown hungry.

Of course, if the _entire_ Empire was slaughtered and made into the undead, it would mean that there would not be any blood to drink. Henrietta pushed that concern aside; many of the Vampires might have rallied to her idea of conquering the mortal world, but that was simply a lie that had proven quite effective. She just needed a large enough force to utterly break the focus of her hatred.

Soon, vengeance would finally be hers.

…

Shepard would have traded every invention she'd ever made, both from her own world and this one, to give her army the gift of flight. She couldn't go on ahead on Stormwing with just the cavalry, since that would leave them exposed, so they were all forced to travel together. That meant moving at the infantry's pace, and though they marched hard, they were still days away from where the undead were supposed to be.

Stormwing, sensing her mood, screeched angrily; Shepard reached down and patted his neck.

"Sorry, buddy, just annoyed," she assured him. "I'm sure you'll be able to kill something soon."

The Griffon turned his head and gave her a look, as if to say _I'd better_. It lifted Shepard's mood a fraction, and she wheeled him around to fly back to the army. The supply train had managed to catch up with the troops, three days after they had set out; the soldiers had been grateful for fresh food and other supplies. Shepard in particular had been pleased to see the _Mako_ leading the way; the Steam Tank had been undergoing maintenance when the call to arms had gone out, and the army had been forced to leave it behind, but Leitzer and Eliza had managed to get it running in time to catch up.

"Did you see anything, General?" Michael asked as she landed.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Shepard said. "We're still too far away."

Gregor nodded grimly. "At this rate, we'll reach Stirland in two, perhaps three days. If the State Troops can hold the undead back without us, perhaps things will go smoothly." He snorted at his own words. "Then again, things never go smoothly where the undead are concerned."

"I hear that," Shepard said. "Last time I tangled with those guys, I almost died. A lot, actually."

Parral raised an eyebrow. "I remember that, but how is that different from any other battle, General?"

Despite the situation, Shepard grinned. "Well, that time, I didn't have a Griffon. Oh, and you guys; you guys are great." Stormwing made an odd barking noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

Richter and Locke shared a laugh as well, but the others either looked only vaguely amused or made no reaction.

Shepard glanced up at the sky and saw how close the sun was to setting. "We'll camp here for the night, and keep going at dawn."

Parral nodded. "I shall set up my tent; my fellows and I are sure to be approached by soldiers with sore feet."

"Tell 'em to suck it up," Shepard said. "You need to save your energy for the real fight."

"We can handle the extra duties." Parral sounded almost offended that Shepard might have suggested otherwise. "So long as you keep that thing away from us."

Shepard glanced down at the shield she'd acquired at Marienburg. After some tests that had nearly knocked Parral unconscious, he had taken to calling the shield 'Spellmaw', a name that the other officers approved of. Shepard had been disappointed when the name she'd given it, 'super-awesome-magic-eating-shield-of-awesomeness', had been unanimously denied. Regardless, Spellmaw was believed to have come from the continent of Lustria, a jungle nation far to the west, inhabited by lizard-people whose architecture was similar to that of the shield. If she ever went there, Shepard hoped the locals wouldn't be upset with her for possessing the shield.

As Shepard led Stormwing away and set up her own tent, she looked eastward; soon enough, she would stop joking with her friends, and head into battle once again. Not for the first time in her life, she wondered if fighting was all she was good at, considering how often it happened.

Back home, such thoughts would have kept her up at night. Now, however, she had a son she loved with all her heart, and a little sister she adored. She had a family worth fighting for, a reason to keep going, beyond the simple goal of getting home.

With that in mind, Shepard put aside her doubts; her family was proof that she was worth more than her skill in battle. In fact, it only made her better.

 _I will stop you,_ she silently promised the undead, still days away. _As long as I can still fight, I will keep my family safe._

 **Okay, this was a bit of a paradox for me. On the one hand, it was really hard for me to write, and I don't know why. On the other hand, it was also really short, especially for me. I know that most of the first chapters for my arcs are short, but this one just stuck out for me. Maybe it's because so much is going to happen. By the way, I hope you liked the sweetness between Shepard, David, and Eliza, because it's going to get a lot darker from here on out. I also hope you like the name of Shepard's shield, because Spellmaw sounded awesome in my head.**

 **Oh, and that battle against the Orcs that was mentioned? That was the final battle against Azhag the Slaughterer, who actually died in 2515, which is when this chapter takes place. Can you believe I actually planned that? I'm not going to have Shepard kill every canon bad guy out there (Skarsnik and Queek are enough... for now), but I wanted Shepard's inventions to at least make that battle easier for the Empire, to show how things are starting to change for the better. Which is also why Shepard invented toothpaste. The Empire's safety and security are improving, so now it's time to start making everyday life a little better and healthier. Grandfather Nurgle will not be pleased that he is losing his grip on tooth decay... but I say screw him, I still remember what happened at Middenheim, and I don't like it!**

 **Anyway, the break for Honor-Bound is over! Expect lots of stuff to happen, hopefully with as few breaks as possible.**

 **Next Chapter: Shepard faces the undead, but she might have bitten off more than she can chew this time…**

 **The manner by which a Vampire turns a mortal into a Muffin is subject to much speculation.**


	25. Bitter Harvest, Part 2

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. FIGHTING THE UNDEAD MIGHT SOUND EPIC, BUT REALLY IT'S JUST A NIGHTMARE TO CLEAN UP ONCE YOU'RE DONE.**

 **You know what creeps me out more than anything else in the Vampire Counts lore, other than the idea of being raised from the grave, I mean? The Black Coach; it's basically the Grim Reaper if he was a taxi driver… of DOOOOOM!**

 **Anyway, back to Shepard.**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 25

Bitter Harvest, Part 2

" _I will admit that I was… disturbed, shall we say, when I learned of the connection between the Vampire leader and General Shepard. Had it been anyone else, I would have had them executed for bringing such a foe into the Empire; I have ordered such a fate for far less."—Emperor Karl Franz_

…

"I remember this area well," Gregor commented as he rode alongside Shepard. "I trained here when I was young, and fought my first battle a few leagues south."

Shepard offered him a smile. "I'm glad that not all of your memories of this place are bad."

Gregor nodded. "I have served as a knight for many years, General; I have witnessed countless glories and celebrations, and I treasure those memories, even as I try to learn from the defeats and tragedies."

Before Shepard could comment, the wind changed, and her enhanced senses picked up a disconcerting scent.

"Smoke up ahead," she said grimly; one hand drifted to Unbak Urk, while the other gripped Stormwing's reins. "Not a lot, but it could mean trouble."

Gregor tensed. "Your orders, General?"

"I'll take Locke and half our cavalry to investigate." Shepard made a few quick calculations in her head. "You take command of the rest of the army and keep marching at the same pace; I'll send a messenger if we get into a fight, but unless that happens, I don't want our entire force strung out."

"Very well." Gregor nudged Mortis into a trot as he waved over several junior officers. "Fortune be with you, General."

Shepard smirked, though there was no humor there. "I don't need fortune; I have guns."

…

Back in Altdorf, Karl Franz and his most trusted advisors studied a map of the Empire. It was dotted with the best estimates concerning troop movements, both friendly and enemy. To the side were stacks of reports, concerning everything from supplies to weather predictions.

"What is the latest from the first counteroffensive?" the Emperor asked.

"Stirland has most of its forces falling into defensive positions around the larger towns and cities," Kurt Helborg said, barely looking at the parchment in his hand. "They are deploying skirmishers, along with those from Talabecland, to monitor the foe's movements. Averland is mustering in the Moot, to protect it from the undead, and to stock up on supplies before advancing."

Karl Franz scowled. "The skirmishers can't harass the enemy, since the Necromancers will just raise the dead again. We need to remove the head from this beast; once the Necromancers and Vampires are destroyed, the rest of the undead will crumble or fade away."

A shadowy figure, one studiously ignored by most of the attendants out of fear, spoke up. "My Witch Hunters are preparing forces to strike at those targets, but we still need a larger force to keep the undead occupied."

Helborg's mustache twitched, the closest he came to a smile. "Wissenland has already amassed eight thousand men, along with enough artillery to level Middenheim."

An engineer smirked. "General Shepard's improvements to productivity are showing; it would have taken five entire provinces pooling their resources to bring together that many guns."

"Speaking of General Shepard," the Grand Master of the Witch Hunters said, "we have learned something interesting about the Vampire leader. She is a von Carstein, though not a direct descendent of Vlad or Mannfred; a distant cousin, at best. Still, she has grown very powerful."

"A female von Carstein, you say?" Helborg scowled. "I recall a female Vampire escaping my blade the day I met General Shepard."

"And Shepard herself reported that that same Vampire was likely responsible for the Chaos attack on Middenheim…" Karl Franz glared at the map, as if it had offended him. "It all circles back to Shepard. I would not be surprised if this Vampire is attacking the Empire to get to her."

The engineer that had spoken earlier blinked. "Surely, my Lord, you are not suggesting that General Shepard is responsible for this attack!"

"Not intentionally, no." Karl Franz sighed. "But Nuln's Seneschal made an enemy the day she came to us, and it would seem that much of the Empire will suffer for it." He looked up at his council. "Grand Theogonist, you said that you would have an army of holy warriors to support our cause. Where is it?"

Volkmar the Grim, an old man whose age belied the strength his faith gave him, bowed his head, almost as if in prayer. "The devout are coming, my Lord, but many of them began their journey from the farthest reaches of the Empire. It will be several more days before there are enough to make a difference in the coming battle."

Only the Emperor's iron will kept him from growling in frustration. Aside from Wissenland, which was the furthest away from the undead host, the Empire simply wasn't prepared for an attack of this magnitude from Sylvania. Chaos forces from the north, Greenskins from the south and east, even Beastmen from within their own borders—all could usually be countered by one, perhaps two provinces. However, the speed and suddenness from the undead army, along with their overwhelming numbers, meant that the Empire would have to coordinate on a level that was rarely required. And even then, it was possible that they would not be able to win alone.

"Send out messengers to our allies," the Emperor ordered. "We will request aid from the Dwarfs, the Border Princes, even Bretonnia, if they will listen; if the Empire falls, all of them will be at risk."

"Can we hold the undead off until they arrive?" Helborg did not voice the possibility that help wouldn't even be sent.

Karl Franz rested his hand upon Ghal Maraz. "We must."

…

If not for the dying embers, the small village looked like it had been abandoned for years. Homes had been burned down to the foundations, the well was collapsed, and dust covered everything. Whatever had come through here had been quick and thorough.

"We were too late," Locke spat. "Whoever lived here is either slain or fled."

Shepard nodded. "Any idea what did this?"

"I do." An Ironrock Knight, a giant of a man named Nikolaus, saluted briefly with his lance. "See the scratches on the stones? I've seen it before; Ghouls did this, or I'll eat my helm."

"Ghouls are cowardly creatures," Locke said. "They would not attack a village, even a small one, without numbers on their side. To do this much damage so quickly, they would have had to number in the hundreds, maybe thousands."

"And they kept on going." Shepard dismounted Stormwing and knelt by what used to be a wall and studied the gouges in the stone. "There were probably so many of them, they didn't even fight; they just ran right over everyone."

Nikolaus tilted his head. "They almost always stop to eat the dead, but if they just kept on going, where are the bodies?"

"Haven't you ever heard of eating on the go?" Shepard felt sick to her stomach, but kept going. "They probably trampled the villagers to death, and the ones behind them picked up the pieces as they went. We don't see any blood because they kicked up so much dust."

"Then these Ghouls _do_ number in the thousands." Locke scanned the area, trying to see in the early morning light. "Such a host could not hide for long."

Shepard stood and remounted Stormwing. "They don't need to hide, especially if they're just the first wave. Tell the men to rejoin the army; I want to check something, and then I'll catch up."

Locke nodded. "Be careful, General."

A nudge from Shepard sent Stormwing into the air, his powerful wings pumping to gain elevation. It didn't take long to pick up the Ghouls' trail; subtlety wasn't something they were known for. A long stretch of trampled brush and debris dragged from the village went into the edge of a small forest. It didn't take a genius to figure out that that was where the Ghouls were hiding; if the Imperials went in after them, the trees would prevent the Humans from staying in formation, and the Ghouls would ambush them from all sides. Shepard knew that the best option was to draw the Ghouls into the open, where her artillery would help thin out the numbers, and hopefully give the cavalry time to run down the rest.

Of course, as Shepard had known for years, plans rarely survived first contact with the enemy. It wasn't like fighting the Skaven or Goblins, who could be sent into retreat with enough firepower; most undead would keep on coming, either until they were completely destroyed, or whoever was controlling them was killed. Ghouls were, in theory, a little easier to deal with, but if enough of them were worked up into a frenzy, then it wouldn't matter how cowardly they normally were.

"Come on, buddy," Shepard said, urging Stormwing back to the army, "we have work to do."

…

Eliza nervously tapped her fingers against her worktable as she studied a design that she and Shepard had worked on. It was an ambitious project, to be sure, but if it worked, trade and communication throughout the Empire would boom. It was still years away from construction even starting, but it was so exciting to think about, and Eliza tinkered with the diagrams every chance she had.

It was also a good way for her to stay relaxed; it worried her whenever Shepard went out into battle. That worry also extended to all of Shepard's officers, though not to the same degree—though Locke was getting there—and that was under normal circumstances; the very real threat of an undead invasion made the whole ordeal worse.

A small sneeze caught her attention; sleeping in his crib, David rubbed his little nose with a tiny hand. Eliza looked around to make sure that all the windows were closed, then checked on the baby; after a few minutes with no sniffles or sneezes, she relaxed.

"At least you don't seem bothered," she said, then gently stroked his hair. "I'll bet you know that your mother will be just fine, don't you?"

Eliza hoped that was the case, anyway; Shepard was her sister in all but blood, her greatest teacher, and her first true friend. Losing her would be like losing her mother all over again; probably worse, because while Eliza loved her mother, she loved as both family and friend. And then there was David; she loved the baby almost as much as Shepard did, and would grieve for David's loss as her own if Shepard died. Though she prayed that it never came to that, Eliza swore that, if the worst happened, she would raise David with as much love and care as his mother.

A small cough caught her attention, and she turned to see Leitzer, raising one eyebrow at her. "Should I let the General know that you're stealing her son?"

Eliza just smiled. "She doesn't have to worry about that. We're already practically family."

Leitzer rolled his eyes. "Well, if you're done cooing over the baby, could you help me with this rotor assembly? You and the General are the ones who designed this thing, but I'm the one doing the heavy lifting."

"Coming!" Eliza quietly got up, brushed David's hair one more time, and hurried off back to work. There was still more to do.

…

"General, are you sure this strategy is wise?" Richter looked down at the map, and then at Shepard. "Ironrock Keep might be damaged and abandoned, but it would still be a better defensive position."

"It's too far north," Shepard argued. "And we need the Ghouls to come out of hiding; they won't do that if we've got walls to protect us. It's risky, but more innocent people could die if we don't do this."

"And if we keep the undead focused on us," Locke added, "we can give the rest of our forces time to regroup and strengthen their defenses."

"I know," Richter grumbled, "I just hate being part of the force that does all the important work."

Shepard gave him a dry look. "You know that's not true, so suck it up and get ready to fight."

Suitably chastised, Richter bowed his head. "Of course. My apologies, General."

Shepard nodded, then looked back at the map. "The problem is that we don't have much elevation on our side. Shooting is going to be a problem; we'll have to put the artillery and Handgunners in front, then pull them back after one, maybe two volleys."

"All they have to do is blunt their charge," Gregor said. "If that happens, the cavalry can break them, and then the rest can finish them off."

"That's assuming things go according to plan," Shepard countered. "That's why Locke's forces will stay with the _Mako_ , in case we need some fast and heavy firepower."

Michael frowned. "This plan appears sound, but how are we going to lure these abominations into the open in the first place?"

"By playing to their nature," Shepard said grimly. "The Ghouls are always hungry, so we just need some bait."

The 'bait' turned out to be half of Locke's men, deployed in a large meadow; they would pretend to be simple travelers, hiding their armor and weapons under cloaks borrowed from the camp followers. They were also the first part of the counterattack; using as much food as could be spared, the hope was that the smell of cooking meat would hide the scent of steel and gunpowder.

Of course, in order to sell the deception, the men would have to leave their horses with the rest of the army, which would be just beyond the meadow, doing its best to remain silent. Because there was every chance that something would go wrong, Shepard had only asked for volunteers for the bait force. She'd felt a bit of pride when every single man had stepped forward, though she'd only picked half of them, since they had to present an easier target.

The bait force had set up camp, and pretended to be a bunch of carefree travelers, roasting meat over fire pits and laughing at stories. Since they would soon be in battle, they didn't eat any of the food, but from a distance, it looked like quite the party was going on.

Some time passed, and it wasn't until the sun was just starting to set that Shepard noticed movement on the far side of the meadow, just beyond the trees. Moments later, a horde of howling Ghouls charged out of the forest, waving weapons made out of wood or bone over their heads. Alongside their smaller brethren were several groups of Crypt Horrors, massively oversized Ghouls that wielded logs or even headstones as weapons. What was unnerving was that the enemy's numbers had been underestimated. Going by the damage Shepard had seen, she had guessed that there were two to three thousand Ghouls; it was hard to tell exactly, but it looked like the enemy was closer to twice that number.

"Come on," Shepard muttered, hoping the bait force would react in time, "get out of there…"

Thankfully, the men saw the army bearing down on them and quickly retreated. The Outriders among them paused long enough to unleash a barrage of gunfire at the leading edge of the horde, then ran as fast as they could.

"Sound the advance!" Shepard yelled, then spurred Stormwing forward. "Signal the bait force to head for the left flank! Artillery, prepare to fire!"

Handgunners braced their weapons, the Heavy Repeater crews readied extra ammunition, and the artillery crews muttered quick prayers. The army waited tensely, watching as the bait force got out of the line of fire; it was a race to see whether they would succeed, or the Ghouls would catch them. If it was the latter, it would be far better to shoot first, and at least make their deaths quick.

Shepard was incredibly relieved when she didn't have to make that call; the troops made one last sprint, and gave the rest of the army a clear shot.

"Fire!"

The army's front line erupted with fire and wisps of smoke. Bullets ripped into the mass of Ghouls; the monsters were so tightly packed that a few shots went clean through one target and into the one behind it. Cannonballs from the Helblasters and Great Cannons obliterated hundreds more, and thoroughly broke the horde's momentum. In fact, the sheer ferocity of the attack nearly made the Ghouls stop entirely; it almost looked like they might even run away.

But Shepard didn't want the Ghouls to leave; if they did, they would regroup, and probably attack at night, or simply avoid them and go after weaker targets. This was the best chance they had to eliminate this threat entirely.

"Cavalry, charge!" Stormwing lifted into the air, and Shepard hefted her repeater handgun. "Infantry, move up behind us!"

While Shepard flew overhead, Gregor led the Ironrock Knights in a wall of charging horses and steel. Behind the cavalry, Richter led the Greatswords at a fast march, their blades resting on their shoulders, ready to be swung; at their sides were the ranks of Halberdiers, and behind them were the Swordsmen. Michael bellowed sermons of retribution as he and his men marched behind Richter, while Parral and the other Jade Wizards readied spells of healing and protection. Locke divided his light cavalry, including the bait force, which had remounted, into two sections, to cover the infantry's flanks; the _Mako_ trundled alongside Locke and his personal unit, occasionally firing from the turret when the opportunity presented itself, while the light cavalry opened fire as Shepard and the knights' charge brought them ever closer.

Despite the firepower hitting them, the Ghouls rallied and charged again, their howls and shrieks drowning out even the boom of the cannons. Because of this, the impact Shepard and the Ironrock Knights had when their own charge hit home was less devastating than expected. Still, hundreds of Ghouls were impaled, crushed, or trampled in seconds, and that was just from the knights; Shepard hacked, shot, and kicked any Ghoul that she could, and Stormwing accounted for dozens of kills by himself.

As the infantry caught up to the knights and the battle became a melee, the Ghouls' numbers became both their biggest strength and their greatest weakness. While four or five Ghouls could overwhelm a knight or a soldier, the only way for the back ranks to attack was if they leaped over the heads of those in front of them. Some Ghouls tried this, and a few even succeeded, but the Imperials had discipline and unity on their side. Halberds and swords rose and fell, claws and clubs hit shields and armor, and both sides suffered losses.

Had the battle been a simple matter of force against force, the Ghouls would have won by virtue of numbers alone. However, the Imperials had two vital factors that changed things into a more even fight. First was the presence of the Jade Wizards; their magic kept alive many soldiers who would have otherwise been torn apart. The other was Shepard; her presence rallied any who faltered, and with Stormwing, she was able to reinforce any part of the line that looked to be in danger.

As hard as she fought, Shepard was also continuously shouting orders as situations developed, and with banner-bearers and musicians to relay her commands, the army was able to react relatively quickly.

"Locke, swing around and hit the big ones on the right flank!" Shepard cut through a Ghoul that lunged at her. "Michael, I'm sending men to reinforce you!" Five more Ghouls tried to rush her, but Stormwing tore them apart. "Richter, head to your right and keep Parral covered!"

As she hacked apart yet more Ghouls, something appeared in the corner of her eye; Shepard barely had time to raise Spellmaw when what used to be a wooden beam smashed into her with enough force to unseat her from Stormwing. She rolled with the fall and readied herself to deal with whatever had hit her.

That turned out to be a massive Crypt Horror; the hulking monster was easily three times the size of a Ghoul, with bones, chunks of wood, and even pieces of stone piercing its body as crude decorations. With drool falling from its mouth, the Horror shambled towards her, its club raised high.

Shepard stepped out of the way of the blow, which tore a chunk of earth free. She then swung Unbak Urk into its elbow, nearly severing the limb and drenching her armor in something thick that might have been blood. The Crypt Horror roared, more in anger than pain, and tried to hit her again, but Shepard buried Unbak Urk into its skull with enough force that the misshapen head exploded.

"Oh, great," Shepard groaned, as three more Crypt Horrors broke through the line and barreled towards her.

Thankfully for her, Richter and the Greatswords arrived to help. Taking their namesakes to the Crypt Horrors like a team of lumberjacks took their axes to a tree, the Greatswords quickly chopped down the monsters. Their bravery was not without cost, however; nine men were crushed before the Crypt Horrors died. Shepard growled; most of the Greatswords were veterans that had served with her as far back as Middenheim, and there were far too few of those left as it was.

Shaking off the thought for later, Shepard jumped back onto Stormwing and had him charge into another pack of Ghouls. Once they were destroyed, Stormwing flew up at Shepard's urging, so that she could get a better view of the battlefield.

From what she could tell, the battle was going well. The undead were hurling themselves at the Imperial infantry, but the disciplined Humans weren't giving an inch; thanks to the Jade Wizards continuously healing the front ranks until the soldiers grew tired and fell back for the ones behind them, the Ghouls were being ground down. Shepard could also see Gregor leading the Ironrock Knights around for another charge, while the light cavalry and the _Mako_ covered them with close-range firepower.

Though the battle was going in the Empire's favor, Shepard didn't want it to go on for too long; there was far more to do, and it would be pointless to exhaust her soldiers on what had to be the vanguard. She decided that it was time to clear the Ghouls out more efficiently.

Shepard waved to catch the attention of several officers below. "Push and burn!"

After battles with the Skaven, Shepard had worked with her troops in creating maneuvers specifically designed for dealing with swarms of enemies. This one required said enemy to be very close and packed together.

Once the order went out, the Swordsmen pushed the front rank of Ghouls back with their shields, then stepped aside, giving just enough space for the dozens of flamethrower-armed soldiers to safely use their weapons. Shepard had finally been able to create an efficient pilot light for the flamethrowers, so they no longer required two-man teams; instead, she gave the experienced torch-bearers another flamethrower, so that each close-quarters regiment had at least two of the weapons.

With muffled _whoosh_ , columns of fire engulfed swathes of Ghouls, instantly burning the flesh from the closest, and severely injuring those further away. The flamethrower operators swung their weapons in wide arcs, killing hundreds more in short order. The smell of burning flesh wafted up and nearly made Shepard gag; she'd smelled it before, but it was something she would never get used to. Unlike the times most enemies she'd set on fire with bursts of plasma back home, she had no qualms about using fire in this world; nearly everything she could have used it on was fundamentally evil, and fire worked wonders on most forms of undead.

Before she could feel any sort of satisfaction when the Ghouls reeled back, before she could order the army to make another push, Stormwing let out a screech of warning. A moment later, something crashed into the Griffon, sending him spinning in the air. Shepard's vision was filled with pale flesh and snapping jaws that were filled with impossibly-long teeth. Stormwing roared in pain as a talon scraped his neck. On reflex, Shepard drew her pistol and fired into the maw as it tried to bite her, until the weapon was empty.

The bat-like monstrosity shrieked in fury and let go, flapping its wings and glaring at Shepard. It took her a moment to recognize the unholy cross of man and bat as a Vargheist, a deformed offshoot of a normal Vampire. Though powerful, they were ravenous monsters that sought only to feed on the living.

And this one wasn't alone; dozens flew from the sky, now almost completely dark, and swooped down into the ranks of Shepard's army. Caught by surprise, the entire left flank was in danger of being overrun.

 _We were suckered,_ Shepard realized. _The Ghouls were meant to hold us steady for these guys; we can't fight on two fronts right now!_

Gritting her teeth, Shepard had Stormwing fly towards the Vargheist that attacked her; thankfully, the monster wasn't too bright, and it quickly met Shepard's charge. Shepard was faster, though, and Unbak Urk sliced its right wing off, and the Vargheist plummeted to the ground.

Locke had also realized the threat the Vargheists presented, and led his cavalry in a desperate race to intercept them before it was too late. Shots rang out, mostly from the repeater handguns that were in range, but the Vargheists that were hit were too tough to be brought down so easily. Several regiments of Handgunners, who had mostly been denied targets, now had something to shoot at, something they did with gusto. With only the barest remnants of sunlight and the glow of the flamethrowers' efforts for light, most of their shots went wide.

While most of the Vargheists were flying low to attack the army, Shepard and Stormwing crashed into those that were still higher up, the former's axe and the latter's talons shredding a handful that couldn't get away in time. Down below, however, the other Vargheists were tearing apart scores of men, who now desperately protected the few Jade Wizards close enough to keep the rest alive.

With a bellow of rage that would have impressed a Krogan, Michael threw himself at the Vargheists, his Swordsmen right behind him. A mighty blow from his hammer caught one monster on the jaw with enough force to nearly rip its head from its neck.

"In Sigmar's name, I deny you, abominations!" Michael began to glow with a light that spread to his followers. "In Sigmar's name, I shall burn you from this world!" Two more Vargheists landed in front of him. "Come and meet your destroyer, filth! I shall send you all to the hell that awaits you!"

Michael brought his hammer down on the leg of one Vargheist, turning the bones to pulp, while his Swordsmen fell on the other with a zealous fury, undaunted by the handful of their number that it killed. The wounded Vargheist lashed out and grabbed a nearby soldier; heedless of the sword it drove into its arm, it bit down on his throat and tore away flesh and blood. In a moment, its leg began to heal.

"You shall pay for your very existence, scum!" Michael raised his hammer again, but this time, the Vargheist was ready. It backhanded the Warrior Priest with enough force to nearly crush his breastplate, and sent him flying into a pack of Ghouls that had used the Vargheists' attack to break through the Imperials' front lines. Gibbering and howling, the Ghouls fell upon Michael in a mad frenzy.

"Die, monsters!" With that simple phrase, Gregor led his Inner Circle into the Vargheists, their Demigryphs tearing the undead creatures apart twice as fast as the knights' lances and halberds.

The Vargheists were now on the back foot, and their position was made even worse when Shepard arrived, hitting them from behind. Between her, the knights, and the remaining soldiers, the Vargheists were quickly destroyed, but there was no time to rest.

"Reform the line!" Shepard roared. "Gregor, hit their flank! We can do this!"

Gregor nodded, but paused before he rode off. "General, Father Michael is—"

"Back, abominations! You shall not kill a servant of Sigmar so easily!" With one hand gripping a Ghoul by the throat, and the other slamming his hammer into another Ghoul's skull, Michael rose. He was covered in blood, and from the way it spurted, much of it was his own, but the priest refused to go down. Shouting praise to Sigmar, Michael's Swordsmen went to his aid, butchering the remaining Ghouls.

"It seems he's alive," Shepard said, with obvious relief in her voice. "Now get going; the sooner you charge, the sooner we can end this."

Gregor nodded and led his knights away. Shepard took a moment for both Stormwing and herself to catch their breath, and also to check on Michael, who was now arguing with a Jade Wizard.

"Move on, I do not need help," Michael said, even as he swayed on his feet. "I cannot rest until this battle is done."

"For you, it is," Shepard said, her tone daring Michael to defy her. "You did your part, Michael; you're no good to any of us if you die now."

Michael scowled at her, and it was then that Shepard noticed that only one of his eyes was glaring; the other was just a bloody socket. Shepard felt her stomach turn at the thought of her friend so badly injured.

"Michael, please." Shepard's voice was gentler this time. "For me."

With a heavy sigh, Michael allowed the Jade Wizard to lead him away for healing. Shepard only hoped that he would survive losing so much blood.

Now that that was dealt with, Shepard took to the air again; much to her satisfaction, the Ghouls were being routed. The flamethrowers had completely broken their momentum, leaving them exposed to the knights' fresh charge; if Shepard's estimate was right, there were only around a thousand of them left, and some of them were fleeing.

Before she could lead the final charge that would break the Ghouls, something in the distance caught her eye. It was a baleful green glow, growing brighter as it neared; as much as Shepard hoped otherwise, something told her that she was not going to like what was coming. As she flew closer to investigate, she found that she was right.

An army of thousands was heading her way. Unearthly spirits led the way, their unholy light illuminating the countless ranks of Skeleton Warriors, Zombies, and other forms of undead, including thousands more Ghouls. There was no way Shepard's force could fight that; they wouldn't even slow such a host down.

As much as it frustrated her, Shepard didn't even hesitate to issue her next order. "Fall back! Everyone, retreat now!"

"General, what are you talking about?" Locke frowned as Shepard landed nearby. "We've defeated these creatures!"

"Yeah, and that was a drop in the bucket," Shepard told him. "There's an army ten times what we just fought on its way. There's no way in hell we can stop it."

Locke paled. "Are they close?"

"Very. I'd say we've got an hour, maybe two. I want you to cover our retreat, in case those Ghouls get any ideas."

"By your command, General." Locke rode off, shouting orders as he went. The army quickly shifted, the back ranks helping the wounded to keep them from being left behind; everyone knew that those that were already dead would soon be joining the enemy.

Shepard slammed her fist down on her armored leg in helpless anger. She hated running, especially when people were going to die either way. This war was quickly reminding her of the Reapers, only instead of indoctrination, it was necromancy.

 _You're going to pay for this, Henrietta,_ Shepard promised. With one more glare in the direction of the approaching undead army, she rejoined her soldiers; she had a lot of work to do.

…

Henrietta smiled as one of her scouts finished the report. "So, she turned tail and ran, did she? Very well; I didn't intend to kill her yet."

"Why, though?" Zacharias idly licked the fresh blood from his sword. "From everything I've heard, this Shepard is a capable leader. Wouldn't it be wiser to kill her as soon as possible?"

The glare Henrietta sent his way made even the veteran warrior pause. "Don't try to advise me on matters you know nothing about. If Shepard had decided to make a last stand against me, I wouldn't have hesitated to kill her. But I don't want her to die, not yet; I want her to watch as everything she strove for burns, and realize that her entire life was pointless. I want her to die in despair."

"Then why fight the Empire at all?"

"Two reasons, actually." Henrietta leaned against her temporary throne, which she had forged from a dozen skeletons with her magic. "First, is that Shepard cares about the Empire, and I want her to lose _everything_ she cares for. Second, she has proven to be highly resourceful, especially when she has allies nearby; if we take those allies away, she will have nothing to fall back on."

Zacharias nodded; Henrietta was driven by revenge, but her decisions had some tactical merit as well. What he didn't know was _why_ she wanted revenge on Shepard, though he had a feeling that she would kill him if he brought it up. Considering how many Vampires now called her the Vengeful Lady, Shepard must have done something that Henrietta felt deserved vengeance.

"We will pause long enough to raise Shepard's dead," Henrietta continued, "and then we will march on Wissenland. It is Shepard's home province, and I want to see it destroyed first."

"There are several other territories between here and there," Zacharias pointed out.

"Their defenses are still in disarray," Henrietta said dismissively. "We can send some of our lesser elements to keep them occupied. If we take Nuln and raise their dead fast enough, we'll have all that we need to conquer Altdorf. Without their leaders, the Empire will be thrown into chaos, and the rest of the invasion should proceed smoothly."

Zacharias nodded, but refrained from warning her about overconfidence. In her volatile state, he wouldn't put it past Henrietta for killing him over the smallest thing; it was also likely that she wouldn't heed his warning anyway.

For now, he would content himself with the many minor victories they'd had so far. It had been too long since he'd been able to feast like this, and he was determined to enjoy it.

…

Eliza awoke to the sound of David crying and immediately sat up. She fumbled for her glasses, then dashed over to where the baby's crib was in her room.

"Hush, little one, I have you," Eliza cooed as she held David in her arms; after a few minutes of gentle rocking, he calmed down. "There, there, you're all better. What happened? Did you have a nightmare?"

David, being a baby, didn't answer, but he still looked upset. "Ah."

Eliza held him close. "I bet you're worried about your mother. Don't be; she'll be fine, and it won't be long before she's back and holding you again."

That seemed to satisfy David, and he was soon asleep. As Eliza put him back in his crib, she prayed that her prediction came true. She didn't want to lose any more family.

 **Well, that's round one of this war. Shepard beat the Ghouls, but there's a metric shit-ton of undead left to go, and as badass as she is, Shepard can't do it with what she has.**

 **I realize that this chapter was still a little on the shorter side, but considering the size of this arc, the first couple of chapters were inevitably going to be shorter. Or I might just be subconsciously making these shorter so that I can manage this campaign in bite-sized pieces that won't make me lose my mind.**

 **Now, a few things to clarify: in the game, Ghouls count as undead, meaning they don't run away. However, their lore states that, unless they have overwhelming numbers on their side, or are commanded by a sufficiently powerful leader (i.e., a Vampire or Strigoi Ghoul King), they're actually quite cowardly. Since I never stated that this group of Ghouls was led by anyone like that, grievous casualties were going to send them running. Also, Vargheists are a pain in the ass.**

 **You might be wondering why I brought up Ironrock Keep if Shepard wasn't actually going to use it. First, it was mentioned because they were nearby, and it was a pivotal moment for Gregor and the other Ironrock Knights. And Shepard didn't use it for defense because it would limit how well she could use her cavalry, and in order to destroy the Ghouls, she needed to lure them out. Even if you outnumber the enemy by more than 2 to 1, are you going to attack a fortified position against an enemy that has artillery and other long-range weapons, when you only have crude clubs? I don't think so; Ghouls have enough intelligence to realize this.**

 **Also, you would not believe how many people asked me when Shepard was going to fix those flamethrowers. She's working with half-remembered designs of, for her, ancient technology; some things are going to take a while to figure out. But now it's done, so enjoy your cooked Ghouls, compliments of Shepard.**

 **And yes, Michael lost an eye. Not everyone makes it through a war in one piece. Besides, having a character with an eye patch sounds cool.**

 **Next Chapter: Shepard retreats, but it won't be long before she has to fight again. This time, however, she won't have to fight alone.**

 **In the forsaken lands of Sylvania, ancient Muffins stir…**


	26. Bitter Harvest, Part 3

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. YOU KNOW, NECROMANCERS ARE A GREAT SOURCE OF FREE LABOR, BUT THE PUBLIC RELATIONS HAVE TO BE A NIGHTMARE.**

 **Free hint about this chapter: It made me want to grow a beard. And also drink copious amounts of alcohol, pick up an axe, and bury it in a picture of Legolas' face.**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 26

Bitter Harvest, Part 3

" _Out of all the people that don't like me, I'm still surprised that the Priests of Morr are in that camp. It's been years since cremation became common practice; can't they let it go already?"—General Alexia Shepard_

…

During the Reaper War, Shepard had seen the reports of planetary evacuations across the galaxy. When she had been forced to flee from Earth, she'd had a good idea of what many refugees went through, even if she hadn't been born on Earth. She'd felt fear, despair, anger, and even once considered ending her own life, rather than deal with the insanity that was engulfing the galaxy.

Compared to that, reading the reports of what was happening to Stirland, a single province, shouldn't have bothered her as much, but it did. In fact, it was driving her towards a fury that even she hadn't known she could reach.

"Four thousand people dead in two days," she growled. "This has to stop."

Before her, a map of the Empire was spread out over a table. Red tabs were being used to represent the undead army; the eastern half of Stirland was now covered in those tabs.

"The damage could have been much worse," Locke offered weakly. "Stirland's armies are mostly intact, and much of the citizenry within the conquered area has been evacuated to neighboring provinces."

Shepard didn't look impressed. "Four thousand people, Locke; that's a lot of empty towns."

"There is some good news," Gregor said, his eyes flicking over a new report before he moved a handful of red tabs. "The undead are halting during the height of the day, which gives us time to rest and prepare. And the foe seems more intent on pushing west, rather than build up their forces with the dead; their leader must be impatient."

"I'm not surprised." Shepard took a deep breath. "If it really is Henrietta, then she's probably coming for me."

Michael grunted from his chair. "Why does this fiend hate you so much?"

Shepard spared the Warrior Priest a glance. It had been two days since Shepard's army had been forced to retreat, and Michael's condition had been critical, so Parral had done his best to heal him while on the move. It had been touch and go for a while, and Parral had only been able to fully concentrate when they had reached the Wissenland and Stirland forces to the west and set up camp. Though Michael would survive to fight another day, he had lost a lot of blood, and his eye was beyond saving. When he had been told about that, Michael had been silent for a moment, then scoffed.

"Sigmar blessed me with two good eyes, and two strong arms," he had said. "So long as I can see the foe at all, so long as I can lift my hammer, I will not falter."

"When I was captured by the Vampires," Shepard said quietly, eyes closed as she remembered, "I saw a little girl that had been turned into one of them. I had to kill her when I escaped. Henrietta referred to her as her daughter." She gave the barest of smiles, though there was no warmth in it. "She's insane, don't get me wrong, but what if someone had k—hurt David? I can't be sure I wouldn't have acted the same way."

The officers were silent for a moment. They knew how much Shepard loved her son; if something ever _did_ happen to him, there wouldn't be anything left of the one responsible.

"Do we have any new reports on the counteroffensive?" Shepard asked, deliberately changing the subject.

Richter sorted through the stacks of parchment for a moment. "The forces to the north are holding their position; it looks like they won't do anything until they're positive that the undead are heading west. Further reinforcements from Wissenland and an army from Reikland are still heading our way, but supplies are going to be sparse; the undead are between us and the Moot, after all."

Shepard grimaced; thankfully, the undead hadn't moved into the Empire's breadbasket, but if this war dragged on for too long, it would only be a matter of time before people began to starve.

"There are at least seven Knightly Orders on their way," Gregor added, "including the Knights of Morr; if anyone can help against the undead, it is them."

Shepard looked down at the map again; blue tabs, representing Imperial forces, were loosely circled around the occupied part of Stirland, but until the bulk of the reinforcements arrived, all the undead needed to break out of the encirclement was one good push.

Everyone paused when another messenger ran in; panting, he handed another piece of parchment to Shepard, then excused himself.

"I hope it's good news," Locke said.

Shepard read the message, blinked, and then read it again. She looked up at her friends and grinned.

"More like good luck," she said. "Some old friends just arrived in Nuln, and they're on their way here."

Gregor noticed that everyone else was smiling enthusiastically. "Old friends?"

"Dwarfs from Barak Varr," Shepard explained. "We worked with them during the expedition to Karak Eight Peaks. Morgrim was delivering a large shipment of steel to Nuln when he heard about what happened here, so he and his army decided to stick around."

Now it was Gregor's turn to smile; Dwarf convoys were usually heavily guarded, and if the supplies they'd brought to Nuln were valuable enough, those guards would have equaled a small army.

"And it looks like the Emperor sent out messengers to every friend the Empire has," Shepard continued. "If we can hold the undead for a few more weeks, we'll have a lot more Dwarfs hitting those bastards from the east and south."

"That will give us the time to focus on the west and north," Gregor finished. "If we do that, we'll have the momentum on our side."

"That's assuming we _have_ a few weeks," Richter said grimly. "The undead are reinforced with every one of ours they kill."

"You really need to work on your optimism, Sergeant," Locke chided. "Most of the Empire will be mobilized soon, and we are getting Dwarfs; undead invasions have been crushed with less."

"But we can't get cocky," Shepard warned. "All it takes is one mistake, and this whole house of cards comes crashing down." She raised an eyebrow. "On a related note, how are _we_ doing?"

"The wounded have been healed," Parral said, speaking for the first time today. "However, my peers and I would like to rest for at least a day before the next battle."

"Our supplies are replenished," Locke continued. "Though we lost nearly four hundred men during that fight with the Ghouls, either killed or lost limbs and couldn't be healed."

Shepard grimaced; while it wasn't the worst casualties her army had ever suffered, it was still nearly twenty percent of her standing force.

"I want our troops working with the Stirland guys," Shepard ordered. "Heavy patrols across the line. I'll coordinate our artillery with what Wissenland and Averland brought with them. Gregor, you're leading any calls for a countercharge; Locke, you'll be covering them and the retreats we'll make."

Despite the bitter taste it left in their mouths, the Imperials all knew that they lacked the numbers to stop an army of this size. All they could do was stage a series of bombardments from artillery, brief charges from cavalry, and then a fighting withdrawal. This had happened twice while Shepard's army had rested, and it was draining morale across the Imperial lines. Shepard hoped that news of reinforcements would change that.

"Come on, guys." Shepard grabbed her helmet and put it on. "Let's get to work."

…

Henrietta scoffed as a scout gave her a report. "The mortals think that they can hold out, do they? Well, then, it's become a race. Let's see what happens first—will we crush the Humans and create an Undead Empire, or will _we_ be the ones crushed by the tide of the living?"

"My Lady." Henrietta turned to see Visharos giving her his clumsy attempt at a bow. "I've gathered up the Ghouls from around the Stirland crypts. There are not enough to replace those we've lost, but there are still many."

"Good. When they go into battle next, I want you to lead them; you and Zacharias will be the tip of the spear that pierces the mortals' line."

Visharos grinned, his filthy teeth coated in the rotting flesh of his latest meal. Henrietta idly wondered if the Ghoul King even remembered that she had secured his loyalty by promising to undo his curse; these days, it felt like he served her out of genuine devotion.

"You've certainly excited him," Zacharias said, once Visharos had loped off to gather his minions. "I'm assuming that I will lead our cavalry behind him?"

Henrietta almost laughed. "He's a useful enforcer, but of little value otherwise. He will likely figure out that he is expendable soon. When that happens, I want you to kill him."

"Finally." Zacharias eyed the Ghouls with distaste. "Those creatures tear apart the corpses; it's hard to raise more troops from _those_ remains."

Henrietta didn't reply; the Ghouls were useful as both shock troops and terror weapons, even more than most undead. She didn't really mind who or what served her anymore, as long as her goals were met. If it meant that Shepard suffered before she died, nothing else mattered.

 _Speaking of Shepard's suffering…_ Henrietta mulled over her options for a moment, then nodded. _It's time we began pushing west._

…

The next undead assault was swift and brutal. Swarms of bats swooped down from the clouds, clawing and biting at any exposed flesh they could latch onto. The troops from Wissenland and Averland, two of the provinces that had benefited the most from Shepard's innovations, scrambled to clear out the bats with flamethrowers, along with any Bright Wizards that were with them. No sooner had the surviving bats fled that thousands of undead wolves slammed into the Imperial lines, which had been far too busy watching the sky to check the ground. It took a desperate charge from over five hundred knights to break that assault, but by then, it was too late.

Ghouls flooded the weakened line, tearing apart anyone who didn't run. Behind them, Zacharias the Everliving led thousands of undead knights and ghostly Hexwraiths in a devastating charge that broke the back of the Averland army, and utterly destroyed the Stirland defenders, who had been determined to not let the enemy any further into their home.

Shepard barely managed to pull her own forces back in time, along with a handful of Averland units that had been separated from their army, and the pitifully few Stirland soldiers that had been unable to die with their fellows. Along with the Wissenland army, Shepard's force retreated back to the westernmost edge of Stirland, within sight of Nuln itself.

It was the biggest military disaster to befall the Empire in over a century. Stirland was, for all intents and purposes, out of the Empire's hands; if things didn't change, the Empire would be split in half in weeks at this rate.

The only good news was that the reinforcements from Wissenland and Reikland now had a smaller distance to travel, and Nuln soon had a vast army between it and the undead. Shepard was determined not to let Henrietta's forces into the city; aside from such a battle becoming a nightmare to fight, it would also put David and Eliza in direct danger.

Thankfully, the undead host decided to pause as it gathered for another assault, which meant that Shepard had some time to breathe, as well as reunite with the Dwarfs.

"By the Ancestor Gods, Shepard." Morgrim shook his head as he approached. "You never do anything small, do you?"

Shepard grinned ruefully as she shook Morgrim's hand. "It's not my fault so many people want to pick a fight with me."

Morgrim huffed. "As I recall, it was _you_ that picked the fights at Karak Eight Peaks."

 _Not by choice,_ Shepard thought, remembering her time underground. "How are things there, anyway?"

Morgrim's smile was a little enthusiastic. "Reconstruction is going well, and the High King is using it as a launching point to get back into Karak Drazh. Last I heard, he had a foothold there, and he's pushing deeper."

"I wish I could help." Shepard genuinely meant it; the Dwarfs had suffered enough over the years, and it was high time they started reclaiming their lost territory. "But, as you can see, I'm a little busy."

Morgrim glanced eastward, scowling at the unearthly light in the distance. "Damned undead. Only way those bastards are going to stay dead is if you burn the bodies."

Shepard heard the distaste in his voice—which made sense, considering that Dwarfs buried their dead in all but extreme circumstances—but she didn't disagree. In fact, the Emperor himself had decreed that all bodies, both friend and foe, were to be reduced to ashes, thus preventing the undead from reanimating the corpses. It was a task that the Bright Wizards and flamethrower-operators found themselves quite good at, though the priests of Morr were upset.

"We're taking care of that, now that we actually have time," Shepard said. "What did you bring for this little party?"

"You mean, other than this?" Morgrim tapped a small keg that he'd brought. "Barak Varr grog; something to celebrate with when this is over." The humor in his eyes faded for something more serious. "Aside from that, I've got two thousand of my best fighters with me; all of 'em fought at the Eight Peaks, and they all remember you, Shepard."

Shepard grinned; though they were an extreme minority compared to the twenty thousand Imperial soldiers gathering outside Nuln, it was nice to see so many Dwarfs. She felt even better when she saw regiments of Ironbreakers and Irondrakes march past.

"See, this is why I like having friends," Shepard said.

"Aye, it's a good feeling." Morgrim glanced at something behind Shepard and scowled. "Oh, here he comes."

Shepard turned and saw a much younger Dwarf, if the short length of his beard was anything to go by, jogging up to them. This Dwarf was unlike any she had seen before; his helm had a strange lens over his right eye—reminding her of the visor that Garrus wore—and had a large boiler-like devise that rose over his head and connected to his back. His right gauntlet was connected to it by a series of pipes, and he was armed with a twin-barreled rifle and another weapon that looked like a cross between an axe and a monkey wrench.

"I'll leave him to you," Morgrim said, already moving off. "Don't be afraid to cuff the beardling if he tries to talk your ear off."

Morgrim was gone before Shepard could ask what he was talking about, and by then, the younger Dwarf was enthusiastically shaking her hand.

"General Shepard, I've heard a lot about you!" the Dwarf grinned. "Grimm Burloksson, Barak Varr engineer. As soon as I heard this convoy was headed to Nuln, I had to come and meet you."

Shepard blinked in surprise; she had been warned more than a few times that the Engineers Guild would likely hate her, but this engineer sounded like he was talking to a respected colleague.

"Um, nice to meet you," Shepard said. Despite her uncertain tone, Grimm's smile widened.

"Probably thought I'd lecture you about patience and tradition and whatnot, right?" He laughed when Shepard nodded. "Ha! I'm not like those old fogeys in the Guild; I love making new things!"

Judging by the esoteric gear that Grimm had, Shepard believed him, and by the way his eyes roamed appreciatively over the _Mako_ , he was probably a kindred spirit. She couldn't help but smile.

"Well, it's nice to meet a Dwarf engineer that doesn't hate me." Shepard tilted her head in the direction of the approaching undead. "But I think we're going to have to talk later."

Grimm nodded, his smile fading slightly. "Of course, General; I look forward to it."

With that, Grimm dashed over to where the Dwarf artillery was gathered and barked orders at the gunners. Shepard made a mental note to have an academic discussion with him when this was all over, and then pushed the thought aside; there was a battle to be won.

…

The undead attack began with hordes of shambling Zombies; thousands of moaning corpses shuffled towards the Imperial line, only to be blasted apart by a withering barrage of bullets and cannonballs. No one took any comfort in the victory, however; Shepard and other experienced officers predicted that the attack was meant to reveal the location of the artillery.

It turned out that they were right; Henrietta and the other Vampires urged more swarms of bats to fly down and kill the gunners. This time, though, the Empire was ready; flamethrowers and Bright Wizards burned many bats to ash, and those that weren't killed by fire died by Celestial Wizards, who summoned strong gusts of wind that snapped the bats' fragile wings. This went on for several long minutes, and though a few of the big guns were silenced, the Vampires' supply of bats was all but exhausted.

Rather than try to attack with her not inconsiderable army, Henrietta pulled her forces beyond the range of the artillery. She then decided to withdraw further into Stirland, and then proceeded to divide her army into three parts. The first, led by the Undertaker, stayed in Stirland to raise as many of the dead there as possible. The second was commanded by Henrietta herself, and drove into the western half of Averland. The last force was led by Zacharias, who attacked the eastern half of Averland.

Caught off guard by the sudden change, the Imperials scrambled to catch up and keep the undead contained. Averland had sent much of its forces to aid Wissenland and Stirland, leaving the province vulnerable. Shepard was the first to figure out why Henrietta had changed tactics.

"She wants to cripple the Empire," she said. "Nuln has the most production for the military, and Altdorf is the center of government. Henrietta can't break through the defenses with what she has, so she's going to chip away at the other provinces to weaken us, build up her army even more, and then try again."

The plan to counter the new offensive was simple—the Wissenland armies, along with the Stirland survivors and help from Talabecland, would push into Stirland and try to disrupt the operations there. Averland's forces, joined by most of the Knightly Orders that had volunteered, would accompany that group for a time, before circling to hit the eastern half of Averland to drive off Zacharias. Shepard's army would be accompanied by the Barak Varr Dwarfs, and they would confront Henrietta directly.

"She hates me," Shepard had said, when explaining her decision. "I'm hoping that that hatred will throw her off and cause her to make mistakes."

With the new plan in mind, the Imperials and the Dwarfs made their peace, and set out for war once more.

…

Though the march to Averland was one of barely controlled panic, Shepard couldn't help but get drawn into a conversation with Grimm as they traveled. He had asked her about the _Mako_ 's engine, which had prompted an explanation on Shepard's part; Grimm had then offered some suggestions on replacing some of the fittings with higher-quality metals. Shepard had said that the fittings _were_ of high quality, which resulted in a lecture about the differences between a Human's definition of high quality, versus a Dwarf's.

The two discussed metallurgy and the effects it had on a machine's efficiency, which then turned into a debate of quality versus quantity. By the time the sun set on the second day of marching, the two engineers were fast friends.

"See, the shaped cartridges would be better propelled, and more easily contained," Shepard said, sketching out a crude outline in the dirt next to the campfire. "I've already begun production for the repeater weapons, but I might be able to get them mass-produced for all of our guns within the next two years."

"Ah, I see." Grimm took a long swig of grog, belched, and tapped his beard. "What do you use for keeping the whole mix together?"

"Sterilized intestine," Shepard said nonchalantly, then raised an eyebrow at Grimm's look. "What? Do you know how much beef people go through every year? All that material goes to waste, but now we have a use for it. Besides, how do you think sausages are made?"

The intestine was just a stopgap, of course; Shepard was still working on creating proper brass cartridges, but the current handguns weren't designed for that kind of round. In order to have better ammunition, she would have to create better guns, something she had no objection to.

Grimm chuckled. "I have to admit, it's not a bad idea. I've been toying with new bullet designs, but I couldn't get the resources for more than a small army's worth."

"Maybe you can tell people that it's making the Humans successful," Shepard offered. "Since a lot of the work is being done by a Dwarf Friend and all…"

"Your position _does_ carry weight," Grimm mused. "I'll think on it, maybe get the Guild to grant me what I need if I also produce more traditional things."

Shepard grinned. "Good way to get around the stuffiness."

The conversation ended when Morgrim and Gregor approached. "General, we've received news," the latter said.

"Good or bad?" Shepard asked.

"Both, actually." Gregor sat down on the other side of the fire; Morgrim did the same after grunting in Grimm's direction. "The push into Stirland goes well, though there are many disturbed graves; resistance is growing the further east the army goes, but the areas that have been reclaimed are being fortified."

"What's the bad news?"

"A report came in from Black Fire Pass," Morgrim said darkly. "There's another undead host coming up from the south. No one's sure about the size, but any enemy reinforcements could be disastrous."

Shepard nodded grimly. "If that happens, anything we do to counter it will just hurt us later. If we pull forces from other provinces, it weakens us if there's a raid from up north. If we take more troops from the cities, it opens us up to the Skaven again." Though the Skaven had been pushed back underground, Shepard wouldn't put it past them to try something if they sensed weakness. "And if we raise militia forces, we lose farmers, which means people go hungry."

"Not to mention that that same militia will likely be more hindrance than help," Gregor added.

"We have to end this as quickly as we can." Shepard stabbed at the flame with a stick, then tossed it in when the end caught fire. "We need to drive the undead back into Stirland, and then we can reinforce Black Fire Pass when this other army shows up."

"It all relies on speed," Gregor said. "If we are too slow in any of the battles, the entire south could fall apart."

"That won't happen," Shepard said fiercely. "We'll stop them; I swear."

…

The army of Humans and Dwarfs arrived at the border of Averland after another day of hard marching, but was forced to rest if they were going to be effective in battle. Though the Humans were tired, Shepard's army received a boost to their morale that night. Much to the relief of everyone, Parral had declared that Michael was ready to resume his duties. Aside from a slight limp, the Warrior Priest didn't seem bothered by his injuries; even the loss of an eye didn't faze him, though he did smile a little when Shepard said that he looked even more intimidating with the eye patch.

"It is a shame that the undead do not feel fear," he had said.

That small bit of levity was the only thing that had helped Shepard's mood; Averland showed signs of not only destruction, but also desecration, with entire graveyards emptied of their residents. It was hard to estimate, but Shepard believed that the entire undead force across the Empire numbered at least fifty thousand strong.

Since it had no real bearing on their current mission, however, Shepard kept that thought to herself as her officers and Morgrim gathered for a meeting.

"Henrietta seems to have moved her forces to Averland's southern border," Shepard said, tapping at the map. "Any ideas as to why?"

"Black Fire Pass," Michael said immediately. "The remains of countless people lie there. If the undead join the ones moving north, and then raise the bodies already there… General, the Empire would be devastated."

"He's right," Gregor agreed. "We need to cut off the Vampire before she can reach the pass. Everything else must be secondary."

Shepard nodded, even as she studied the map. "If the Averland forces in the area can slow Henrietta down long enough, we can catch up. Then we can destroy her force, get reinforcements, and take down the guys coming up from the south."

Locke followed her gaze. "Have we received any news about the Vampire's forces? Do we know what we'll be facing?"

"The scouts reported seeing a lot of Vargheists and those zombie wolves," Shepard said. "Henrietta also has a decent number of cavalry."

Gregor smiled grimly. "Leave their knights to mine."

Shepard shook her head. "No, you'll do better against their infantry; punch through their lines and kill any nearby Necromancers. Locke, your men and I will go after the Vargheists; I don't want a repeat of last time." She nodded at Morgrim, who had been silent so far. "If possible, I'd like your troops to deal with the wolves, while mine handle whatever infantry Henrietta throws at us."

Morgrim nodded. "Sounds easy enough; once we crush the beasts, we can swing around and hit the main force's flank. We'll need cover from the artillery as we maneuver, though."

Shepard grinned. "I think we can manage that."

…

Henrietta laughed when she saw the approaching Human army. As she'd expected, Shepard had pursued her into Averland, which fell nicely into her plans. That woman was far too easy to predict; Shepard blamed herself for Henrietta's attack against the Empire and, knowingly or not, took it upon herself to personally make amends. Grudgingly, Henrietta did admire that Shepard was willing to handle matters herself, rather than leave it to her underlings.

Even if it was an admirable trait, Shepard was still falling into Henrietta's trap that would see the mortal broken. The seeds had been planted when Henrietta launched her invasion, something that Shepard would inevitably blame herself for. It would be worse for her when news of the death and devastation reached her. Threatening Nuln, and her wretched progeny, would be another festering wound on Shepard's psyche.

The next step would be taken here, in Averland. It was no secret that Shepard cared for her soldiers; through her spies, Henrietta knew that Shepard held memorial services for her pawns when they died. If her entire army was destroyed, not only would such a loss hurt the Empire's morale, it would inflict yet more pain onto Shepard.

After that, only one more step would be needed to completely break that wretched woman.

"Prepare for battle," she ordered her Necromancers and lesser Vampire attendants. "We will kill them all."

…

"What do you think?" Shepard asked as she surveyed the battlefield. "Ten thousand of them?"

"Easily," Morgrim said. "They outnumber us by nearly three to one."

Locke chuckled. "Then it is an even fight, no?"

Richter's scoff was genuinely lighthearted. "No, we still have the advantage; we have the General."

Shepard jerked her thumb in the direction of the artillery. "Not to mention a metric shit-ton of guns."

As much as they joked, the army opposing them was no laughing matter. Thousands of Zombies and Skeleton Warriors shambled into loose formations, undead wolves prowled between gaps in their lines, skeletal knights waited on the flanks, and dozens of Vargheists flew overhead. Compared to the enemy they faced, the united Imperial and Dwarf army was pitiful in size.

What the living troops had in their favor was firepower; dozens of artillery pieces were prepared, as were the hundreds of Human Handgunners and Dwarf Thunderers. The _Mako_ was also a formidable engine of destruction, one that Shepard eagerly wanted to unleash.

Shepard glanced up at the sky; though it was midmorning, the dark clouds summoned by the Vampires made it feel like evening. She took a little comfort in knowing that at least the sun wouldn't throw off anyone's aim.

"All right, guys," she said, hopping onto Stormwing, "let's get this party started."

The others nodded and hurried to their positions. Morgrim, Michael and Richter would hold the line with the infantry, while Parral went to the ranks behind them to lend his healing magic. Grimm went to the back to help the artillery, while Gettmann joined him; it was a safe place that he could focus on disrupting as much of the enemy's magic as possible. Gregor rode off to join his knights, where they would wait for the best time to hit the foe's flank.

Only Locke remained behind. "Today is a good day to hunt monsters, is it not, General?"

Shepard smiled behind her helm. "Yep, I'd say it is. Just don't shoot me when I'm in the air, okay?"

Locke's mock-offended face was enough to make Shepard laugh. She held onto that feeling as Stormwing lifted into the air; after this battle, she had a feeling that she wasn't going to be smiling for a while.

…

The battle started with a withering salvo from the artillery as soon as the undead came into range. Hundreds of Skeleton Warriors and Zombies were obliterated, but that hardly put a dent into the oncoming horde. The wolves, however, completely avoided the barrage, having ran so fast that the shots went over them; since they felt no fatigue, the wolves crossed the gap between the armies quickly, with the intent of tying up the front ranks long enough for the rest of the undead to catch up. Thunderers and Handgunners fired at the wolves, but their speed kept all but a few safe as they made their final charge.

What Henrietta had not anticipated, however, was the sheer stubbornness of the Dwarfs that marched in front of the wolves. These Dwarfs fought not only to honor an oath of allegiance, but also counted many of Shepard's soldiers as their friends. With a tenacity that would have made their ancestors proud, the front rank linked their shields and stood firm as the wolves crashed into them. Though some Dwarfs fell to rotted claws and fangs, none of them took a step back. Axes and hammers smashed into reanimated tissue and bone with such force that the foul energies powering them could not stitch them back together.

The Imperials cheered as the last of the wolves fell, but it was short-lived when they saw how close the rest of the undead army was. Thankfully, the rousing sermons of Michael and the no-nonsense orders from Richter kept the front line organized and ready to fight. Halberds met the oncoming wall of flesh and bone, chopping and spearing the first lines of undead. Those that weren't destroyed by Halberdiers were finished off by Swordsmen. Further back, the ranged infantry and artillery continued to pour shots into the back ranks of the undead, desperately trying to lessen the sheer weight of bodies hitting the front line.

After the initial push was stopped, the infantry for both mortal armies fell back, but only enough for the Irondrakes and flamethrower-armed Humans to step forward and bathe the undead in fire. Skeletons dried up and fell apart, while Zombies were burned to a crisp. This devastating attack created a wider gap between the living and the dead, which Grimm quickly capitalized on, directing the artillery and the _Mako_ to decimate the enemy's front lines.

For all their hard work, the allied force was still heavily outnumbered. Thousands of undead had yet to fight, and the battle had barely begun. The Dwarfs held firm, both out of loyalty and sheer stubbornness, while the Imperials stood their ground because they knew that to lose would be to join the undead horde.

Shouts of horror rang out as the left flank spotted the flock of Vargheists swooping down on them. The Imperials remembered the battle against the Ghouls, and how only a few Vargheists had nearly collapsed their line, and there were many more this time.

Cries of terror turned into call of encouragement, however, when Shepard arrived.

…

Shepard was too disciplined to shout in rage as she fought; instead, she channeled that anger into fighting harder, though she allowed herself some satisfaction when a volley from her repeater handgun dropped a Vargheist. Below Stormwing, Locke and his cavalry unleashed their own fusillade, killing several more of the monsters.

Surprised by the counterattack, the Vargheists' charge was disrupted, but not for long. Now, though, their target was Shepard's force of hunters; they dove down from the sky, their talons reaching out for Human flesh.

Shepard wasn't about to just let them attack her men, and urged Stormwing into a dive of his own. The Griffon shrieked in rage as his own talons caught a Vargheist from behind and tore its wings off; his beak lashed out at another, and nearly decapitated it. Shepard had Unbak Urk in one hand, and her pistol in the other; the latter put five bullets into the skull of one Vargheist, and when she got close enough, the former split another at the waist.

Down on the ground, the cavalry scattered to avoid the Vargheist assault; the maneuver was largely successful, though a few unlucky men were still torn from their saddles. The rest of the Pistoliers and Outriders fired again as the Vargheists pulled up from their dive, bringing yet more down.

One on one, or even five on one, the Human cavalry would have had a hard time taking down a Vargheist. However, while there were dozens of the monsters, there were over two hundred experienced cavalrymen pitted against them, and unlike the last time, they had a better idea of what to expect from Vargheists. Like wolves attacking a larger animal, groups of men rode around a single Vargheist, peppering it with gunfire two or three positions at once, and when the Vargheist tried to after the attackers, the rest of the soldiers would hit its flanks or rear.

Despite her bias against horses, there was a reason that Shepard employed Locke's riders so often in her strategies: adaptability. There was no other force in her army that could so quickly match the various changes in battle; whether it was scouting, covering a retreat, or countering an enemy attack, Locke's troops could handle it. They were so good at their job that more than a few had requested to remain in the light cavalry, instead of moving on to the Ironrock Knights.

"That's it, boys, we've got 'em!" Shepard called out as she and Stormwing took down another Vargheist.

"General!" Locke waved his sword over his head to catch her attention. "We'll have these beasts finished off soon; go return to the front!"

"You sure?" Shepard blinked when Locke casually drew a pistol and drilled a Vargheist between the eyes. "I guess you are." As Stormwing lifted off again, she waved in the direction of the waiting knights. "As soon as you're done, go join Gregor's charge!"

"A chance to win even more glory?" Locke grinned up at her. "By your command, General!"

Shepard rolled her eyes, but otherwise didn't respond; there was still plenty to do, and there was no time to waste.

…

Henrietta frowned. She had hoped that the Vargheists would be more effective, but Shepard's underlings were better than anticipated. The mortal herself was not unimpressive either; not many could kill a Vargheist with a single swing of an axe. It seemed that the stories of her wielding an ancient Dwarf weapon were accurate.

With their flanks secure, the Imperials' morale was soaring; they were fighting so hard that it was possible that Henrietta's army would _lose_. That was something she couldn't afford, not at this stage of the plan. Dragging the fight out had seemed like a good way to break Shepard's spirit, but that wasn't looking likely anymore.

"Send in everything," she ordered.

…

"I see them," Gregor said. "Four Necromancers together; it seems they are directing more of their abominations towards the Dwarfs."

Nikolaus, who had distinguished himself several times over this campaign, tightened his grip on his horse's reins. "If they push hard enough, they'll split our armies apart."

"Agreed. Now is the time to strike, before they gain too much momentum." Gregor raised his war-pick high. "Knights of Ironrock! Our moment has come! Strike in the name of honor, of duty, and the destruction of our foe! Charge!"

The Ironrock Knights spurred their mounts into a trot, then a gallop. After a few seconds, the horses were at full speed, their riders leveling lances or readying their war-picks. Unlike many Knightly Orders, they did not often let out battle cries; instead, they focused their wrath inward, using it to focus their attacks. Their grim behavior was why many other orders found them off-putting, but Shepard approved of their attitude.

"War isn't about looking and sounding good," Shepard had once said to Gregor. "It's about winning as quickly and efficiently as possible. If you really want glory, talk about it after the fighting is done."

It was things like that that made Gregor and his knights fight for Shepard; she had a similar attitude to their order. The Ironrock Knights reveled in their victories, but only after the battles were over; glory didn't mean anything if boasting about it got you killed.

With that in mind, Gregor urged Mortis to run even faster; the Demigryph screeched as he slammed into the enemy's flank. The knights didn't use their lances at first; the momentum and heavy barding on their mounts was enough to simply crush the undead as they charged. Within moments, hundreds of Zombies and Skeleton Warriors were destroyed, but there were still many more between the knights and the Necromancers.

"Wheeling death!" Gregor shouted.

At his order, the knights divided into groups of six; the first three would punch deeper into undead, clearing out space, and then wheeling around to let the next three do the same, while giving the first group time to regain their momentum for another charge.

Stabbing with lances and hacking with picks, the Ironrock Knights shredded one mass of undead after another. It was Gregor who broke through to the first of the Necromancers, a withered old man who clutched an enormous tome. Gregor's pick slammed into his head, shearing most of his skull off in a single blow.

The Necromancer's death had an immediate effect—dozens of Zombies and Skeleton Warriors fell to the ground, the latter often in pieces. The other Necromancers tried to reanimate the fallen, but they were already straining themselves as it was.

However, the undead ranks were closing in, and the knights had lost most of their momentum. In moment, sheer weight of numbers would drag them down. Ignoring the bitter taste in his mouth, Gregor was about to issue a retreat, but he realized that a large group of skeletons had circled around, trapping the knights.

"Keep fighting!" he shouted. "We must get back to our own lines!"

The task was easier said than done. Rotted hands and rusty weapons struck well-crafted armor, but it was only a matter of time before that armor failed, and the knights began to die. It was likely that the entire order would be destroyed before they could break out of the encirclement.

Hope surged in his heart when a familiar sound rang out. A wave of bullets slammed into the undead, followed by a large blur that resolved into Stormwing. The massive Griffon let out a cry so loud that several nearby skeletons actually fell apart; many more were torn to pieces by Stormwing's talons and beak. Shepard hopped off his back to lay about with her axe and shield, the latter of which she used to absorb a spell from a distant Necromancer.

"Gregor, reform your knights," Shepard ordered. "We'll give you the space you need to charge out of here."

Reluctantly, Gregor nodded; the army had done what damage it could, and with at least one Necromancer dead, the undead host couldn't become as large as before. Perhaps more of them would be killed in future battles; it was the only way to beat the undead in terms of attrition.

"Very well, General. Ironrock Knights, prepare to withdraw!"

…

Shepard hid her frustration well. They had been close, but Henrietta's full-scale attack was too sudden, and different from the piecemeal strategy she had been using before. Even with the artillery on their side, there were too many of the undead; they would run out of ammunition before they ran out of targets, and it was only because of the guns that the frontline troops were doing as well as they were.

The worst part, for Shepard, was that Henrietta was nowhere in sight; the scouts were positive that she was leading this army, but there was no sign of her. Shepard had hoped to kill her, thus removing the entire Vampire force's leader. By retreating now, it would only drag out the overall war.

As Stormwing flew into the air, something glinted in the poor light and caught her eye. When she turned to fully look at it, she felt her blood run cold.

Their strategy, which had revolved around defeating Henrietta's army quickly, had now completely fallen apart. The undead army from the south had arrived.

It was a terrifying sight; thousands of skeletons marched in perfect lockstep, all armed with spears, shields, or bows. At their flanks rode lines of skeletal horsemen, or chariots pulled by undead horses. At the army's head marched a figure wrapped in bandages, but even from a distance, Shepard could tell that whoever they were was powerful.

Then Shepard noticed something odd about this army. Though both forces were undead, the newcomers were unlike Henrietta's army in every way. The skeletons all marched like professional soldiers, not the shambling hordes under the Vampires' control. The equipment they had also looked old, but it was still ornate and carried like the skeletons knew how to properly use them. These undead didn't feel like a mass of puppets; rather, they acted like they still had their souls.

Shepard wasn't sure if that was less frightening, or more.

The new army marched until it was within range of their bows, then halted. The leader held up an ornate staff for several seconds, then leveled it forward. In a single motion, every archer drew an arrow, raised its bow, and released; thousands of shafts filled the air.

There was nothing Shepard could do, but watch as death rained down on her men; she wouldn't be surprised if she joined them soon enough.

Except… it didn't happen. The arrows didn't land on her army; in fact, they almost seemed to swerve around any mortal warrior, and instead hit Henrietta's forces. In seconds, half of the Vampire army was destroyed.

Shepard could only stare. "What the hell is going on!?"

 **You guys must hate me right now. I mean, it took forever for me to update this, and I end on a Sigmar-damned cliffhanger. Don't worry, I won't take as long for the next chapter. As for why it took so long… well, lots of stuff happened. Mostly involving me finishing college (done now, so I have some more free time), but now I'm looking for a job, so when that happens, I'm going to be busy again. Sorry.**

 **One thing I wanted to get across with this chapter is that Shepard's new inventions haven't made the Empire invincible to enemy attack. Stirland might not be destroyed, like Solland was (it's no longer a province, for those who don't know), but it sure as hell won't recover quickly. And, yes, it is technically Shepard's fault. If she hadn't shown up, Henrietta would not have been so revenge-crazy.**

 **Oh, and that thing about Grimm Burloksson being from Barak Varr? Yeah, there is literally no information on where he comes from. It's just stated that he's a far more progressive engineer that most (read: all) Dwarfs. I mean, the guy has a steam-driven power fist. And a self-lighting pipe. I want one, and I don't even smoke.**

 **Next Chapter: Shepard gets some unexpected reinforcements, but can they be trusted? Can an alliance truly be built, or will ancient prejudice start yet another war?**

 **I, Settra, have proclaimed it—let none dare oppose my Muffin.**


	27. Bitter Harvest, Part 4

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. HOWEVER, I WOULDN'T MIND OWNING A PYRAMID AND AN ARMY OF UNDYING SOLDIERS.**

 **Fun fact: Nearly everyone who made a guess as to who is leading the new army was wrong.**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 27

Bitter Harvest, Part 4

" _The turn of the Bitterness War, as it came to be known, was when the strangest alliance in centuries occurred. In retrospect, it is not surprising that General Shepard was at the center of it all."—Excerpt from Imperial History, Vol. VII_

…

Henrietta screamed in rage as her army fell apart. Thousands of her minions had been destroyed, and by another army of undead, no less! Who were these newcomers, and why would they attack the dead over the living?

To make matters worse, it seemed that Shepard wasn't going to question good fortune; she directed her troops to only attack Henrietta's army. There was a moment of hesitation, longer for the Dwarfs than the Humans, but bullets and cannonballs began hitting Henrietta's force almost as quickly as those damnable arrows.

As much as she relished the opportunity to rip Shepard limb from limb, she wanted to be able to savor the victory. She couldn't do that if she was killed here.

With that in mind, Henrietta made her decision.

"We withdraw to the east."

…

Soldiers let out a ragged cheer as the pitifully few undead retreated. Some of the Dwarfs joined in, but those were mostly the younger warriors; the rest of Morgrim's throng, along with Shepard and her officers, were keeping an eye on the other undead army.

"Any ideas, guys?" Shepard asked. "Not to point out the glaringly obvious, but I don't think these ones are with Henrietta."

"We should pull back while we have the chance, General," Morgrim said. "We are in no condition to fight another battle, especially against a foe that can shoot back at us."

Shepard agreed with the assessment, if not the advice to retreat. The undead army was easily ten thousand strong, and it looked like half of that number was made up of archers. Considering they fired from a range only a rifle should have been able to achieve, Shepard did _not_ want to get into a shooting match with these guys.

What she didn't say was that it bothered her that these undead were able to use archers at all. From what she knew of necromancy—and very little was available, beyond warnings of how evil it was—most undead were merely puppets, too jerky and clumsy to handle dexterous tasks like archery. These new undead, however, were far too graceful.

"General." Richter pointed with his sword. "It looks like they're sending someone our way."

It was true; a chariot had separated from the rest of the army, and was headed their way. The driver of the chariot was nothing special, just a skeleton, but its passenger wore tattered robes and bandages, and stood hunched over, clutching a staff.

Shepard placed her hand on Unbak Urk, but otherwise, she remained calm. "Tell everyone to hold their fire; I'll go out there and see what this about."

"You cannot be suggesting that you will parley with these abominations!?" Michael stared at her with his remaining eye.

"I'm not promising anything until I know more," Shepard said. "Something's bothering me about these guys, and I want to find out what that is."

"They are unholy monsters, General!" Michael protested, even as Shepard mounted Stormwing. "They are only good for destroying!"

Shepard only shrugged before putting on her helm. "If you're right, I'll let you get first crack at them."

As Stormwing flew to meet the emissary, movement from the undead army caught Shepard's attention. The bandaged figure at the forefront, the one with the intricate staff that seemed to command the army, was watching her closely, even from a distance. The figure appeared to realize that they were under scrutiny as well, and slowly nodded in Shepard's direction. Shepard wasn't sure if she could be seen from a distance, but she returned the gesture before guiding Stormwing back to the ground.

The chariot pulled to a stop nearly twenty feet away. The driver and the skeletal horses didn't move, but the hunched passenger slowly made their way towards Shepard, who dismounted and met them halfway.

When they were closer, Shepard noted more about who she was about to talk to. It was a man, but one who had clearly been mummified, if the dried skin and bandages were any indication. Shepard had seen mummies in museums on Earth, but this one was far better preserved than any she had seen back home. She wondered if magic had been involved, but even if it was, it was remarkable to see a mummified Human whose features were still mostly recognizable.

The emissary spoke first, his voice creaking and dusty, his words in halting Reikspiel. "You… lead this army?"

Shepard nodded. "The Human part, yes. The Dwarfs are our allies. I'm General Alexia Shepard."

The undead man smiled, though it caused part of his cheek to crack. "A woman, I see. I am Hierophant Ephakos, Liche Priest and servant to High Queen Khalida of Lybaras. We come from the lands of the south, the kingdom of Nehekhara, to hunt down and destroy those you call Vampires."

Shepard blinked as she processed everything this 'Ephakos' told her. She had seen the lands of Nehekhara on a map once, but there was nothing there about a kingdom of the undead. Still, with Henrietta's forces rampaging across the Empire's southern lands, she wasn't going to turn down help… that didn't come from Chaos, that is.

"Are you offering an alliance?" Shepard asked.

Ephakos nodded slowly. "My Queen desires only vengeance against her cousin's progeny; so long as we are not attacked, an alliance would be welcome."

"I'd like some assurance that my people won't be attacked either," Shepard said, though she was curious about what Ephakos meant when he mentioned a 'cousin's progeny'. "Speaking of which, how did you get past the guards at Black Fire Pass? What about the pilgrims there?"

"We harmed no one," Ephakos replied. "Perhaps some were injured when we pushed them aside, but we did not come to make war with your people." He smiled again. "And, before you ask, we did not desecrate the bones of those that are already dead. That is not our way."

Shepard wasn't sure how to react; it was strange enough conversing with the undead, but it was even weirder discovering that these undead had a moral code that didn't involve raising the dead of everyone they came across.

"I'd like to speak with your queen, if possible."

Ephakos bowed his head. "I shall make the request. Until that decision is made, please stay where you are and tend to your wounded."

With that, Ephakos turned and made his way back to the chariot. Shepard headed back to Stormwing, who let out a low squawk.

"Yeah, I'm confused as all hell, too, buddy." Shepard patted his beak. "Right now, though, I'll take whatever help I can get." She grimaced. "But I doubt the others are going to agree."

…

"I can't believe you're actually considering this!"

Shepard resisted the urge to sigh. Every single one of her officers, Morgrim, and even Grimm had objected to the proposed alliance; none of them wanted to even entertain the idea of working with the undead. Shepard had sent a message to the Emperor, explaining the situation as she knew it, and she had a feeling that he would be as unhappy about this as everyone else was. Still, she hoped that he would be pragmatic enough to accept an alliance, even temporarily.

"You think I'm happy about working with the walking dead?" Shepard asked Morgrim, who had spoken. "It makes my skin crawl; the undead are unnatural in every sense of the word."

Morgrim pulled at his beard. "Then why even discuss it?"

"A few reasons." Shepard took a breath. "First, they helped us when they didn't have to, and I think that earns them a little consideration. Second, if they wanted us dead, they'd have done it by now. Third, they approached _us_ for a ceasefire, not the other way around. Finally, they say they just want to kill the Vampires; for now, our interests align, and I've worked with less."

The Humans still didn't look happy, but they accepted Shepard's reasoning. Morgrim was obviously conflicted; Dwarf stubbornness and abhorrence of the undead warred with practicality and his oath of loyalty to Shepard.

Finally, he sighed. "Very well, but I'll be keeping a close eye on them."

Shepard nodded. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't." She didn't add that she also didn't trust the undead, but it was nice to know that she wouldn't have to do all the watching.

"And don't expect me or mine to talk to them!" Morgrim grumbled in his own language for a moment. "We're fighting a common foe, and that's it!"

Shepard had a feeling that Morgrim only added that because he needed to get the last word in on this matter. "Don't worry, I'll do all the talking. Until that happens, though, how are we looking now?"

Parral spoke first. "The wounded have been treated, and our casualties were mercifully light. Still, I recommend that we rest for at least a day before we pursue enemy."

"That will give us time to resupply," Locke said. "Most of our munitions were used up in today's battle, but there is a supply train that should be here by tomorrow."

"It is the men's souls that I worry for," Michael cut in. "They have lived their lives hating and fearing the undead, and I fear what this development will do."

This time, Shepard didn't fight the sigh. "For now, just tell them that we're not fighting together, we just happen to be fighting against the same enemy."

Michael sighed, but didn't say anything more; he clearly didn't like the idea of working the undead, but as long as he focused on destroying the ones controlled by the Vampires, Shepard wouldn't try to convince him further.

Before anyone could speak further, a soldier arrived and saluted. "General, another chariot is approaching; it's being escorted by several more."

"Probably this Queen Khalida," Shepard said. "All right, I'll go meet her. And, yes," she gave a pointed look at Richter, "I'll take some guards with me. Gregor, I'd like to borrow a few of your knights."

Gregor brought his fist over his heart. "They will not fail you, General."

Shepard smiled. "If things go well, they won't be put in that position at all."

…

It was still very strange not to be fighting the undead, Shepard mused. Then again, since coming to this world, her life had been nothing but surprises; actually, if she was being honest with herself, her life had taken a turn for the strange ever since that fateful mission to Eden Prime.

Still, just a few hours ago, Shepard would have been leading her troops into battle against any undead. Now, she was waiting to meet with an undead queen in order to potentially forge an alliance. Life was weird like that.

The chariot that bore Queen Khalida was very ornate, built with fine wood, trimmed with gold, and inlaid with precious gems that formed the shape of snakes. The other chariots were also beautifully crafted, but nowhere near as ornate as their leader's.

Queen Khalida herself was far different than Shepard had pictured. While Ephokas was a shriveled mummy, and the other undead soldiers were all skeletons, their High Queen looked almost alive. The few patches of skin visible underneath her bandages revealed perfect flesh, and she moved with a grace that Shepard had only seen in Elves. Her golden death-mask concealed her true features, but if the face on the mask was an actual representation, then Khalida was a beautiful woman.

Shepard, once again on Stormwing, did not dismount, simply because Khalida did not get off her chariot. Instead, she gave the undead monarch a polite nod, and got one in return.

"You are General Shepard?" Khalida's words, spoken in Reikspiel, were slow, but refined. It was as if she already knew the language, but it had been so long since she had last used it that she was a little rusty.

"I am," Shepard answered. "Am I right to assume that you are High Queen Khalida?"

"I am." With her mask on, it was impossible to tell what Khalida was looking at, but Shepard had a feeling that her attention shifted for a moment. "It is surprising that no other leaders in your army have joined us."

Shepard gave an apologetic shrug. "They're not big fans of the undead. No disrespect meant, but I think we can agree that any talk we have will be better if some of our people aren't trying to kill each other with their eyes."

Khalida was silent for a moment, then laughed; it was only for a moment, but it was genuine. "Such candid words. I believe I like you, General."

Shepard's features remained the same, but on the inside, she was relieved; she had been worried that her comment would have upset Khalida, and the last thing she wanted was for her forces to get into a fight with the wrong enemy.

"Now then," Khalida continued, "we have an enemy to crush, do we not? It has been a long time since I have battled a Vampire, and I will have vengeance for their crimes."

"About that," Shepard said. "What did they do to you that was so bad?"

Khalida's grip on her staff tightened. "I shall spare you the long and bloody story—sufficed to say, Neferata and her 'children' were at least partially responsible for why Nehekhara is ruled by the Tomb Kings, the lords of the dead. I personally suffered at my cousin's wretched hands, and only by the grace of the gods was I spared a fate worse than death." She nodded, as if that settled the matter. "And now that I have learned that Neferata herself is dead, I must settle for eliminating every single Vampire on this world before I can let myself rest."

Shepard heard the Ironrock Knights behind her shifting in agitation, and she didn't blame them. Khalida spoke as if nothing else mattered but her own self-appointed mission.

"What about the Empire?" Shepard asked. "This war needs to end soon, or even more people will die."

"Kill the head, and the body dies," Khalida answered. "Once every Vampire is dead, the mortals that serve them will be easy to dispatch, and the puppets they control will fall apart."

"I just want to make sure that we're on the same side," Shepard said. "I want the Vampires dead, believe me, but I don't want to risk innocent people along the way. If you don't care about collateral damage, you can forget any chance of an alliance."

Khalida tilted her head. "You would stand against us? With your pitiful numbers?"

Shepard removed her helmet and leveled her best glare at the queen. "You know, I could make some grand speech about how I'll save everyone I can, but neither of us have time for that. So long as you don't attack us, I'll do everything I can to keep anyone else from going after you. If you try to pull something… well, I'll be leading the charge."

Khalida was quiet for a long moment. The guards on both sides were tense, but still; even the wind was absent, as if the world was holding its breath. Finally, Khalida nodded.

"I will not kill the innocent," she said. "I have not lost so much that I will sacrifice what is left of my humanity."

Shepard grinned. "Then I hope you're ready to march; we have Vampires to hunt."

…

Karl Franz smiled for the first time since the undead invasion began. The latest report from General Shepard was bizarre, to say the least, but it was the first piece of good news that he could see the results of immediately.

While an alliance with the so-called Tomb Kings was unusual, having an army that desired nothing beyond a mutual enemy's destruction was a boon that the Emperor would be hard-pressed to refuse. The immediate reinforcements would bolster the containment efforts in the south, while Dwarf forces from the east would soon cut off the undead there. If the Vampires could be forced out of Averland, they would be trapped in Stirland, squeezed from all sides, and eventually crushed.

Though it would be a matter for after the war, Stirland's condition would be worrying for quite a while. Whole towns had been razed, and the province's economy would be devastated for years. Countess Emmanuelle had already offered aid in rebuilding Stirland, as had Count Leitdorf, though Averland's support would only come after its own reconstruction. Karl Franz worried that both Elector Counts might be making a claim to Stirland, but that was unlikely; both of them were firm allies of his.

The Emperor pushed aside those worries for later; for now, he had a war to win.

"Reiksmarshal," he called, and Kurt Helborg stepped forward. "Send word for the Reiksguard to lead the charge. Begin the push into Stirland."

Helborg bowed his head. "As you command, sire. What about the north and east?"

"I have received a message from the Dwarfs," Karl Franz said. "A host from Karaz-a-Karak has just come down from the mountains, and will be attacking soon. And the Grand Theogonist has finished gathering his own forces to attack from the north. If General Shepard can drive the undead out of Averland, we will have the enemy completely surrounded."

"Very well, sire." Helborg paused. "Do you think General Shepard will succeed? Even with her new allies, her force is still smaller than the largest undead host in Averland."

The Emperor smiled. "I have come to expect surprising victories from her, my friend. I am sure that she will win, though how she goes about it will certainly be interesting." He chuckled. "Perhaps it will earn her another title. I know how she hates that."

…

"Zacharias, come! The Vengeful Lady approaches!"

Zacharias scowled at Visharos; the Ghoul King's devotion to Henrietta was annoying at the best of times, and it got worse the longer the two were separated. Next time Henrietta tried dumping the monster on him, he would try harder to refuse.

The irritation was soon replaced by shock when he saw the state of Henrietta's forces; barely a thousand undead minions followed behind Henrietta, a Lahmian lieutenant, and two Necromancers, one of whom was badly wounded. What had happened that would destroy such a powerful army?

"My Lady, are you injured?" Visharos bowed, though it was crudely executed.

"I'm fine, get out of my way." Henrietta shoved the hulking monster aside and made her way to Zacharias. "We need to rejoin the Undertaker in Stirland to rebuild our forces."

Zacharias frowned. "What about our efforts here?"

"It won't matter. With my forces destroyed, all of Averland will be focused on yours; now that Shepard has reinforcements, our best chance is to hold Stirland."

"Reinforcements? From where?"

Henrietta told him about the undead army that had attacked. When she was done, if Zacharias hadn't been a Vampire, the blood would have drained from his face.

"What is it?" Henrietta asked. "Do you know of them?"

"The Tomb Kings," he whispered. "Of all who hate our kind, it is they whom we should fear most."

Henrietta's eyes went wide; like most Vampires, she knew the stories of the long-dead kingdom to the south, the place where Neferata first became the first Vampire. Also like most Vampires, Henrietta had had no intention of ever going near that place, dead or not; the Nehekharans' hate for Vampires was so strong that all of Henrietta's instincts screamed at her to stay away. She didn't even try to hope that these Tomb Kings would be merciful towards her, considering her part in Neferata's death; if they were here, then they were probably on a mission to kill her and her kind.

"All the more reason to go back to Stirland," she said. "Winter will come in a few weeks, and that will force the Empire to withdraw, or risk their troops freezing to death. If that happens, we will have all the reinforcements we need to fight off the Tomb Kings. If they do retreat, we will have time to build up our numbers anyway."

"Assuming we last that long," Zacharias muttered.

Henrietta's blades were at his throat in an instant. "Do you challenge me?" she whispered.

Zacharias actually considered it. If things were turning against them on all fronts, then this war would be over quickly; in that case, the best option would be to run. That was assuming he could fend off Henrietta long enough to escape. On the other hand, there was a chance that Henrietta's desperate plan could work—the Empire was filled with corpses, after all, and the Undertaker had plenty of Necromancers and lesser Vampires to raise them.

Finally, he decided that working for Henrietta might still be beneficial to him—and if it wasn't, he would find a better time to escape.

"No, I don't," he said. "You are my master, and I shall serve you."

Henrietta nodded, then sheathed her swords. "Then prepare to move north. We have work to do."

…

"Ah, General Shepard, it has been too long!" Marius Leitdorf swept off his hat and bowed at the waist.

Shepard grinned and played along with the eccentric Count, even curtseying, made all the more silly because of her armor. "It's good to see you, sir."

"Bah, I get enough of formalities at court," Leitdorf scoffed. "Call me Marius, my friend."

"Well, Marius, how's the fighting going?" Shepard glanced at the Averland army's camp, noting their efficiency with an approving nod.

"To be frank, I expected a battle of legendary proportions." Leitdorf pouted. "But, just as I was about to order my troops into battle, those dastards quit the field and fled!"

Shepard frowned. "They ran away? Henrietta keeps doing that."

"Blasted undead," Leitdorf grumbled. "Cowards, the lot of them." He blinked and turned to Khalida, as if noticing her for the first time—which was entirely possible. "Present company excluded, of course. Might you be this High Queen Khalida that General Shepard told me about?"

Shepard had sent a letter to as many Imperial leaders as she could reach, telling them not to attack any undead forces that marched with her. Half of those letters had been written on the move, during the chase that led halfway across Averland, and right to Leitdorf's personal army.

Khalida nodded, though the manic energy coming off the Count was enough to give even her pause. "I am."

"Excellent! General, I have supplies waiting for your troops, as well as for our Dwarf friends; the Vampires are headed north, to Stirland, and we should have that province bottled up by now, so go get some rest." Leitdorf then surprised everyone by looping his arm through Khalida's and led her toward his camp, chatting away like she was an old friend.

Ephokas, who had been by Khalida's side for most of the journey as her advisor, dropped his jaw so quickly that it nearly fell off of his skull. "What… _what_!?"

"Yeah, he does stuff like that." Shepard laughed. "Try not to think about it too hard." She just hoped that Leitdorf didn't shift from eccentricity to outright insanity; she'd heard that he was doing better, but there was still a chance that he would do something crazy.

"General, I'll get my lads settled near the northern part of camp," Morgrim said as he passed by. "Our guns can keep that approach covered until we're ready to move out again."

"Sure thing," Shepard said. "Just let us know if there's anything you need."

Morgrim nodded and continued walking, not even looking at Ephokas as he did. During the march, the Dwarfs had adopted a policy of pretending the Tomb Kings weren't there, only addressing Ephokas or Khalida if there was no other option. Considering how the Dwarfs viewed the undead as the ultimate desecration, Shepard was just glad that they didn't start another fight. Thankfully, the Tomb Kings were all Human undead; all bets would have been off if there had been any Dwarfs in their number.

For her part, Shepard had actually reached out to Khalida, to try and establish at least a cordial relationship with the undead queen. It turned out that Khalida wasn't much of a talker, but she at least answered the questions that were related to the campaign, which was enough for Shepard to get a read on what kind of person she was.

If Khalida could be summed up in a word, it would be 'noble'. She was a woman of high moral standing, quick to defend her honor and a staunch proponent of justice. In her mind, the Vampires that had been created by her cousin all needed to be destroyed before the injustices done to her—though she wouldn't talk about them—were avenged. If she hadn't displayed restraint when dealing with the innocents in her way, Shepard would have compared her to Samara. Like her Asari friend, however, Khalida followed only the laws of her land, and expected everyone around her to follow those same laws with an attitude that bordered on arrogance. Shepard began to suspect that half of the reason that Khalida didn't talk much was because she saw herself as superior to the Imperials—thankfully, unlike the High Elves, she didn't rub anyone's faces in it.

Grimm, at least, was smiling at Shepard as he passed by, and Shepard made another note to resume their academic discussions as soon as they both had free time. They had already promised to send letters to each other after the war was over and they had gone their separate ways. Shepard hadn't had so much fun debating engineering and chemistry since back when she, Tali, and Mordin were together.

"General?" Shepard turned to see Parral. "While our soldiers rest, may I volunteer my fellows' service in healing any of Count Leitdorf's injured?"

Shepard smiled at him. "You never need my permission to help people."

Parral smiled back. "My thanks, General. Oh, and I heard an odd clicking sound coming from the _Mako_ on my way here…"

"I'll take a look at it." Shepard trusted the engineers who worked on the tank, but since the _Mako_ was still technically a prototype, there was a chance that something had been overlooked. Besides, now that Leitdorf had four of Shepard's Steam Tanks in his armies, she didn't want the original to get shown up so easily.

Shepard didn't dwell on how performing some maintenance would also keep her thoughts off the coming battle. She knew that she needed some time to gather her thoughts and rest her mind, but she couldn't let herself just sit and do nothing. Her friends, from this world and the one she wanted to return to, would have lectured her about pushing herself too hard.

She would have replied that it was all she knew.

…

Henrietta shook with rage. "What… is… _this_!?"

The Undertaker, normally calm and collected, trembled when faced with such wrath. "I swear, milady, I did all I could—"

"I find that highly unlikely," Henrietta snarled. "You've had days to reanimate the dead in Stirland. There should be thousands of new soldiers for me to command, but our numbers have barely increased!"

Henrietta scowled as she looked over the undead forces she had left behind in Stirland. Only a pitiful number had been added, a few hundred at most, leaving her with an army that was barely thirty thousand strong. If her objective had been purely conquest, this invasion would have been considered a colossal failure; soon, her army would be outnumbered and surrounded.

But Henrietta's goal had never been to conquer the Empire. Granted, doing so would have helped to achieve her true aim, but it was a side-benefit, nothing more. Her real goal was to utterly destroy Shepard, something that was still within her abilities; perhaps she couldn't do it on such a grand scale, but if that miserable worm was left a broken shell for Henrietta to kill in the end, then it was worth it.

However, her task was proving to be even harder with the Undertaker's failure. "Explain yourself."

"Work has been slowed by the Empire's efforts," the Necromancer said, regaining his composure. "Knightly Orders have smashed apart any large group of undead that we summon, so we must smuggle them here in smaller numbers, or risk losing what we came for. And several of the Vampires and other Necromancers have been killed by those damnable Witch Hunters. Without more of us around, there is a limit to how many undead we can raise and control."

Henrietta grabbed the little man by the throat and hefted him into the air. "I don't want to hear excuses, wretch. I want another ten thousand warriors added to my army in three days, or I will tear your fragile little skull apart and feed the remains to the maggots!"

Zacharias raised an eyebrow at her. "Ten thousand in three days? There's no way we can—"

Henrietta dropped the Undertaker and slashed Zacharias across the face in one fluid motion. "You will remain silent! I don't want excuses, I want results! Visharos!"

The Ghoul King fell to one knee. "At your command, Mistress."

"You and your Ghouls will patrol the area. Kill anything living that comes nearby. I will not be stopped by a band of pathetic Witch Hunters!"

Visharos bowed, then loped off, gathering dozens of Ghouls in his wake. Zacharias and the Undertaker quickly left as well, hoping to avoid enraging Henrietta further. At first, it appeared that she was alone, but her keen senses told her otherwise.

"Show yourself, Leandra," she commanded.

The Lahmian stepped out of the shadows. "It seems the war goes badly, milady."

If Leandra had hoped that her usefulness would keep her safe, she was mistaken. Henrietta was on her in a flash, her claws digging deep into her stomach.

"Do not test me, Leandra," Henrietta hissed, then grabbed the other Vampire's shoulder when she tried to pull away. "No. You will tell me what you have learned in Nuln, and then I shall let you go."

Leandra slowly, deliberately, stopped struggling. "There are guards; they are well-equipped and trained, but few in number. If you can get past them, there are only a handful of mortals."

Henrietta nodded. "Good. Then I will have satisfaction from this venture, if nothing else." With a grunt, she tore her hand out of Leandra's abdomen. "Leave."

Once she was sure that she was alone, Henrietta allowed herself a smile. It might not have been the way she planned, but revenge _would_ be hers.

…

Shepard let out a low whistle as she studied the map in front of her. Though it was only in the form of tokens, what gathered was the greatest showing of military might in over a century of the Empire's history. Nearly the entirety of the Reiksguard, armies from four different provinces, several Knightly Orders, and Shepard's own army, made up the professional part of the Empire's contribution to the war, and gathered in the west and south. Grand Theogonist Volkmar had gathered a massive host of mad zealots, called 'Flagellants', and numbering nearly eight thousand strong, and was prepared to move in from the north. A huge number of Dwarfs were prepared to march from the east and southeast, and that wasn't even counting the Barak Varr Dwarfs that were with Shepard. Combined with Khalida's ten thousand warriors, the allied army numbered nearly seventy thousand soldiers—and when the thousands of support personnel were added in, that number rose to nearly eighty thousand.

It was one of a handful of times that a major undead invasion force was outnumbered to such a degree, and everyone was heartened by it. Shepard had run the numbers, and if they attacked simultaneously, they could crush the Vampires in a single battle.

When she said as much during the war council, Leitdorf cackled. "A battle worthy of song that also has little risk to us as a whole? Truly, General, you are a rare find!"

Khalida studied the map for a moment. "The Vampires are based in these hills." She gestured to the map. "It will be difficult to maneuver most of your artillery."

Shepard nodded. "We'll have them aimed at the perimeter, just in case they try a breakout. Between your archers and our mortars, we should still have plenty of covering fire."

Morgrim scowled. "If we can push the Vampires north with ranged attacks, we might be able to expose them to charges from the north and east."

"Provided, of course, that nothing goes wrong." Khalida stroked the chin of her mask. "If our attack is not made at the correct moment, the enemy _will_ break through our lines. If that happens, they will scatter, and it could be years before they are all hunted down."

"Then we just have to make sure we win," Shepard said. "I don't have to tell anyone here that war isn't without risk, but we outnumber these bastards by more than two to one, and we have them surrounded. This is about as close to a sure thing as it gets. All that's left is to get it done."

"General!" a panicking scout dashed into the tent, barely saluting before beginning his report. "The forces in the east and west are under attack from behind!"

"What!?" Shepard mentally ran through the reports she'd read earlier. "There was no sign of an undead presence in those areas; they were secure!"

The scout shook his head. "No, General, not the undead. They say they're being attacked by the Skaven!"

Shepard had so many questions, but they were all forgotten as a sound reached her ears. It was a sound that she hadn't heard in a long time, but it was impossible to forget.

Everything erupted into chaos as thousands of chittering Skaven launched their attack.

 **What, you thought it was going to be easy with Khalida here? Fat chance. Our favorite fluffy bastards are back! Just so you know, it was not easy writing about Skaven back then, and it won't be now, because I have a deep-seated fear of rats. Writing this is me dealing with that fear. You're welcome.**

 **And for those of you who are wondering why the Vampire Counts' armies were being beaten so quickly, here's the answer: the Empire is very powerful. It's not one of the Human superpowers on the planet for nothing. If it wasn't constantly being attacked by pretty much everyone all the time, the Empire probably would have expanded far further than it has.**

 **So, quick recap: we've got Shepard and the Empire, the Dwarfs, and the Tomb Kings fighting the Vampire Counts and the Skaven in a three-way war. For those of you who are wondering why the Skaven are attacking now, you're going to have to wait until the next chapter. Speaking of which…**

 **Next Chapter: The Skaven arrive to lay waste to the world above! The living and the dead fight a desperate war of survival!**

 **In a single night, the Skaven had reduced the village of Muffinburg to a ruined hole in the ground.**


	28. Bitter Harvest, Part 5

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MY CHARACTERS ARE MINE, AND MOST OF THEM ARE HEAVILY ARMED. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.**

 **Skaven? Check. Axe? Check. Grudges? Check times fifty. I think I'm ready!**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 28

Bitter Harvest, Part 5

" _It felt like the world was ending. Undead in front, Skaven behind. I hated that war more than any other… probably because it was my fault."—General Alexia Shepard_

…

Shepard's arms burned as she hacked through another mob of Skaven. She couldn't remember how long the battle had been going—long enough for night to fall, but that was all she knew—but it wouldn't stop, no matter how hard she fought.

All around her, men fought and died. Each fought like champions, but for every Skaven they killed, it seemed like five more took its place. On Shepard's left flank, Morgrim led his Dwarfs in a stubborn defense; so many Skaven had died that they were able to build makeshift walls out of the dead. On the right, Leitdorf and Khalida's armies cut swathes out of the Skaven horde; the latter with arrows, the former with daring charges into the enemy's midst.

But for all the heroism shown that night, for all the glory earned, the Skaven just kept coming. Rusty swords and daggers plunged into flesh, dragging men and Dwarfs screaming into a living carpet of rats. Skeletons were shattered, reconstituted, and destroyed again.

There was only one saving grace, Shepard realized, and that was the poor quality of the Skaven, even by their standards. At first, the allied forces thought they were fighting only the slaves, but when packs of Stormvermin appeared, emaciated and holding weapons in trembling paws, the leaders began to get confused. Then again, the terrible state of the Skaven was the only thing that kept them from simply rolling over the allies, so no one was complaining.

"Keep pushing!" Shepard's voice was raw from shouting, but she had to keep her soldiers' morale up.

A furious roar echoed overhead, and Stormwing landed in front of her, tearing apart a few Skaven that were too slow to get away. The Griffon had fought so hard that he had exhausted himself; twice, he had been forced back to camp to rest, but the battle had gone on for so long that he was able to come back. Amazingly, neither he nor Shepard were wounded, just beyond tired.

Smiling gratefully, Shepard jumped onto Stormwing's saddle, giving her legs time to rest, even though she continued to kill Skaven. She urged the Griffon into the air, giving her the chance to view the battlefield, as well as rest. What she saw gave her a glimmer of hope; what had once been an endless sea of Skaven had thinned out significantly. One more push would probably send the rats into retreat.

"Gregor!" she yelled, struggling to be heard over the squeaks and screams. "Sound the charge! Everything we have!"

Gregor waved his lance—the fifth he'd used that day—and gathered up his weary knights. Khalida sent forth her own cavalry—Necropolis Knights, skeletons who rode on the backs of giant stone snakes, and Sepulchral Stalkers, an unholy fusion of the top half of a man and the lower half of a snake. Under the rain of bullets and arrows, the cavalry prepared to charge; a horn was blown, and a thin line of man, horse, and undead slammed into the Skaven.

The effect was devastating; hundreds of Skaven were bowled aside, either crushed to death or helpless against the infantry that now advanced. With the last of their energy, the allied forces had turned the momentum in their favor. The Skaven realized this, and began to retreat; as was typical of their kind, they killed even their own as they fought to escape, causing even more casualties. The united armies pursued for several minutes, but exhaustion and the need to keep the Vampire Counts contained forced them to fall back to their damaged camp.

"Reports in the morning," Shepard muttered to her officers as she staggered to her tent. "Stabilize the wounded, Wizards rest, heal tomorrow."

It was a victory, albeit barely, and no one was in the mood for celebration. The war against the Vampires had been bad enough; with the Skaven in the picture, it was about to get a whole lot worse.

…

To anyone watching, Henrietta appeared almost bored as she studied the map. In reality, she was ecstatic. The Skaven attack was unexpected, but not unwelcome; the Empire and its allies were now tied down fighting the rats, giving her plenty of time to regroup and strategize.

At the moment, her plan was the same as it was: use Stirland as a staging ground, raising the dead there and building up her forces for another attack on Wissenland. Aside from hurting Shepard, Wissenland was rapidly becoming an industrial and economic powerhouse, and destabilizing that province would damage the Empire for years, maybe even decades. Though she didn't really care for anything beyond utterly destroying Shepard, if she had a chance to take over vast swathes of the Empire, she wouldn't pass it up.

Not everything was going her way, however. The previous battles had reduced the number of Necromancers and Vampires at her disposal; in order to refill the ranks of the former, she would have to send agents out of Stirland, through the battle raging all around them, and search for recruits. Of course, she could also help the Vampires grow in power, offsetting the smaller numbers, but also increasing the chance of a potential rival trying to kill her.

Movement in the shadows caught her attention; a moment later, a hunched figure launched itself at her, a wicked dagger held in each hand, along with a third in the tail. Henrietta drew her swords in a blur, blocking one dagger, lopping off the hand that held the second, and leaned around the third so that she could bite down on the tail. The Skaven assassin screeched in pain and fear, but it was cut off when Henrietta drove her free sword into its skull.

Henrietta sheathed her swords and spat out the rancid blood and bits of flesh. "It seems that the mortals are not the only ones being attacked by the Skaven. Interesting…"

…

As the sun rose over Shepard's camp, many of the soldiers were stunned by what greeted them. Thousands upon thousands of Skaven corpses littered the ground, their blood turning huge patches of earth into red mud.

The allies' own losses turned out to be less than feared; only a hundred dead from Shepard's army, a slightly higher number for Leitdorf's forces, and a few dozen Dwarfs. All of Khalida's fallen had been brought back by Ephokas and the other undead sorcerers. The main problem was that everyone was too exhausted to do much of anything beyond burn the dead of both friend and foe.

"I don't understand," Shepard said tiredly as she joined a council of war. "The Skaven haven't been a problem since we came back from Karak Eight Peaks. We beat them back from under our cities, and we sealed up every entrance we could find. They know we can beat them, so why the hell are they attacking us?"

"They probably didn't have a choice," Morgrim said, then downed a mug of grog, his third in the last hour. "You saw how thin those buggers were, General; the Empire was probably feeding the _thaggoraki_ for a long time, but now that your people know about them and are doing something about them…" Morgrim actually smiled. "Well, between that and the ground they've been losing to us lately, they're running out of food."

Khalida nodded. "This attack might be the last attempt from the Skaven to take over the Empire. If they fail, they will resort to cannibalism, and destroy themselves. At the very least, they will have to move their entire society to another part of the continent, and that will take time that they might not have."

Shepard was not someone given to hoping for the destruction of an entire species, but coming to this world had changed her perspective a little. "Either way, the Skaven are going to die. Good."

"Even if they're weaker, they're still a problem," Leitdorf said, his expression unusually serious as he studied the map they sat around. "If the numbers are accurate, the Skaven outnumber us by more than ten to one, and they attacked us from behind. Should they completely disrupt our efforts, the undead will have ample time to rebuild their forces and attack again."

"Then we need to keep pressure on both fronts," Shepard decided. "Averland's forces are still strong; between the Count's armies and what we have here, we can keep Henrietta busy until the rest of the Empire and the Dwarfs beat back the Skaven."

Morgrim wagged a finger at her, as if he was disciplining a child. "That's assuming that the rats follow your plan."

"I know, but the sooner we crush the smaller enemy, the sooner we can focus all our attention the bigger one." Shepard was reminded of the Reaper War, and how she focused most of her personal efforts on destroying Cerberus in the early parts of the war. "And right now, the Skaven are the bigger problem."

Khalida nodded. "Agreed. The more time we spend fighting the Skaven, the more of a threat the Vampires become."

Morgrim made an agreeing noise, but didn't look in Khalida's direction.

Seeing that the other leaders now had a plan, Leitdorf flashed a brilliant smile. "Excellent! I'll send a letter to the Emperor to tell him of what we intend. My generals shall take most of the Averland armies and fight the Skaven, and my personal forces will join this glorious alliance!"

Shepard grinned; though he was eccentric at the best of times—and a raving lunatic at the worst—Marius was an unpredictable opponent and often a tactical genius. He was just the wildcard that could tip the scales in their favor.

"Well, first things first," she said, tapping a spot on the map that was just north of their position, "I think we're going to need to dig some trenches…"

…

Karl Franz was not a petty man; as Emperor, his duties required him to rise above such faults. However, as he read one report after another, he felt an almost childlike resentment of Shepard. Granted, it wasn't her fault that the Skaven existed, but a small part of him missed the days when he didn't know that they were real, and he could focus on other, more obvious threats.

Those days were long past, however, and nearly half of the Empire was under attack from the filthy rat-men. Thankfully, the Skaven assault was being met with all the determination the Empire could muster, and the Dwarf armies to the east were lending both their strength and their experience in fighting the monsters.

It was still going to be a tough fight, especially since the northern provinces still had to worry about Beastmen and Chaos incursions from Norsca. Beyond that, there was also the matter of after the war; if the undead and Skaven did too much damage, other enemies could try and take advantage of the Empire's weakened state while it rebuilt.

Karl Franz heard the door to his war room open, and a messenger hurried in; he bowed for a moment, handed the Emperor a few more reports, and quickly left. Karl Franz read the reports, mostly concerning issues of supplies, but the last one caught his attention; after reading it twice, he allowed himself a smile.

"Good news, I hope?" Kurt Helborg asked.

"Somewhat." The Emperor looked down at the map and tapped on the token that represented Shepard's army. "It seems that General Shepard has built quite the alliance. Her own forces, Dwarfs, more undead, and now Count Leitdorf, and they're all heading into Stirland to fight the Vampires."

"Should we send more troops to aid them?"

Karl Franz shook his head. "No, I don't think so. This combined army numbers nearly twenty thousand; any more, and communications might fall apart. Besides, we need to focus on the Skaven. I want you to take half the Reiksguard and head north; join with the Grand Theogonist and lead the charge there." His smile turned grim. "Break the back of the Skaven in the north, so that we might save the south."

The Reiksmarshal bowed solemnly. "On my honor, my Emperor."

…

"Okay, this is just getting annoying," Shepard growled. "We're trying to get at the Vampires, so why the hell do we keep running into more Skaven!?"

"Perhaps the Skaven have done our jobs for us?" Locke offered. "They might have overwhelmed and destroyed the undead in Stirland before we got here."

The push into Stirland had been harder than anticipated. Five days had passed since Shepard and her allies began their attack, but only once had they run into any of Henrietta's forces. It had been a quick fight, with Shepard's forces vastly outnumbering a pair of Necromancers and a few hundred of their minions. The hard part came when small armies of Skaven began attacking them, usually once or twice a day, and numbering only a couple thousand. These attacks were easily defeated, but they were wearing down the living soldiers. Morale among the Humans was only held up by Shepard's unwavering determination, and Leitdorf's perpetual good cheer.

"Unlikely," Khalida said. "If that were the case, the Skaven would have attacked us from the north and south during their initial ambush."

"I have to agree," Morgrim grumbled. "The rats are just as likely to stab each other as us, but they know an advantage when they see one. I'll bet my beard that the buggers we've fought so far are just the ones that broke through our lines."

Shepard accepted the logic and experience from Khalida and Morgrim. "That just means that there are even more of these guys than we thought. What do you think? A couple hundred thousand? A quarter million?"

Morgrim nodded. "They've emptied their nests for this, that's for sure. If they don't get food back to their warrens, they won't have enough to sustain them."

"The forces on the surface will last longer, though," Khalida said. "They'll eat their own dead to feed themselves."

"It just means that they won't take the bodies underground to feed everyone else," Shepard countered. "The longer the Skaven fight up here, the more of them die down there."

When word that the Skaven might be on their last legs filtered to the troops, they were both encouraged and wary. It was nice to think that the filthy rat-men might either die out or be forced to leave the Empire, but it also meant that this attack would be fierce, and driven by desperation.

"Still, I wish they'd get out of the way," Shepard continued. "We have to stop Henrietta before she rebuilds her forces."

Khalida inclined her head. "I have been meaning to ask, General—how do you know this particular Vampire?"

Shepard resisted the urge to growl. "She hates me, and the feeling is mutual. I killed a Vampire that she called her daughter…" she paused to shudder at the memories. "Anyway, she wants revenge; she tried to sic a Chaos horde on me, but that didn't work. It looks like she's been gathering strength to handle things herself."

"I think I understand," Khalida said. "Revenge is a powerful motivator."

Shepard grumbled under her breath in a way that Morgrim approved of, but said nothing out loud for several minutes. "Come on, let's set up camp for today; we'll start marching again in the morning."

…

The war spread across over half the Empire, with every attack from the Skaven being met by all the courage the Humans and their allies could muster. A host of over ten thousand Skaven was crushed under the hooves and hammers of the Knights of the White Wolf, only for an entire village to be wiped out the next day, less than a mile from where the knights were celebrating their triumph. Armies from Talabecland fought desperately to retreat from a three-way battle between themselves, the Skaven, and the undead; they succeeded, but not before hundreds of men were killed, and either devoured or raised to serve new masters.

Humans were not the only ones to show strength, nor to revel in victory and curse defeat. The Dwarfs from the east bombarded the Skaven as they tried to cross into the Moot, killing hundreds with each volley of their artillery. Most of the Dwarfs' ancient enemies were sent running, but just as the Dwarfs were letting out gruff cheers, a pair of assassins took them by surprise; two Thanes, each from an ancient and noble lineage, died that day. The Dwarfs mourned the loss of such great heroes, and collectively swore a mighty oath that a thousand Skaven would die for each drop of blood on the assassins' blades. There were many drops of blood, but they didn't care.

Though the Skaven attack initially caught the Empire by surprise, the Humans' own discipline and the Skaven's growing weakness quickly saw the fighting contained in Stirland once again. Within a week, order had been restored, and quarantine of Stirland resumed. Some pockets of the rat-men appeared outside the cordon, but roving bands of knights and hunters either destroyed them or forced them back underground.

The cost of these early victories were immense, however; though the death toll was impossible to accurately guess, it was estimated that nearly ten thousand Imperial citizens, both soldier and civilian, were now dead. Stirland was still being ravaged by the undead and the Skaven that still fought, and some nobles were already whispering that the province would never recover, that it would have to be divided and absorbed by its neighbors. Karl Franz quickly put a stop to these talks; he claimed that Stirland was wounded, yes, but it could heal, given time and aid from its sister provinces.

With the situation once again contained, the Empire focused on preparing to crush its enemies from all sides, while also hoping that Shepard's alliance would pierce the heart of the undead invaders. If that happened, the war would soon end.

That was the hope, anyway, but where Henrietta von Carstein was concerned, hope was easily shattered.

…

The _Mako_ 's engine growled as it plowed through a rotting tree, sending splinters everywhere. Shepard ignored the chunks of wood that pattered against her armor, though Stormwing gave a protesting squawk.

"Quiet, you," Shepard said, lightly tapping the Griffon's head. "We can all get nice and clean once we're done."

Stormwing gave her a look that dared her to go back on that, then huffed. Before Shepard could make another comment, Locke rode up to her.

"General!" Locke saluted, and the smile on his face alone was enough to raise Shepard's spirits a little. "We've found a group of undead!"

Shepard grinned back at him. "Details, man! Numbers, location, types of the bastards!"

"Right, uh…" Locke fished through his saddlebags until he found a map. "They're about eight miles north of our position, at a graveyard outside a village. They were being led by at least one Necromancer, possibly more; it looked like they were preparing to raise the dead there. I saw several hundred undead, mostly zombies and skeletons, though it looked like there were a few spirits as well." Locke shuddered; most of the undead could be taken down by bullets and blades, but ghosts were another matter. "Anyway, if we hurry, we can wipe them out."

"And every Necromancer we kill is a big hit to Henrietta's army," Shepard mused. "Hell, if we retake that village, we could use it as a staging ground, maybe a field hospital." She patted Locke on the shoulder. "Good work. I want you and your men to get some rest, because you're going to be part of this fight. I'll let the others know."

"Thank you, General!" Locke saluted and rode off, leaving Shepard with another burst of energy.

This was the first time Shepard had picked up her enemy's scent in days, and she was determined not to lose it. When she informed Khalida, Morgrim, and Leitdorf about what she had learned, they were just as eager.

"Even if the report was half-right about their numbers, there are going to be too many of us on the field," Shepard said. "We'll need to divide our forces and encircle the village."

"Agreed." Leitdorf was staring at a map of the area with such intensity that it was a wonder it didn't burst into flame. "General, might I borrow your cavalry? With them, I'll be able to completely cover the village's east side. If the Lady Khalida takes the west, we'll push the enemy south, right towards you and our Dwarf friends."

Morgrim nodded in approval. "Catch them in a vice, then squeeze 'em 'til they pop."

"I suggest we hurry," Khalida said. "The longer we delay, the more time we give the enemy."

Shepard smiled grimly. "You heard her, people; let's get to work."

…

When word spread that the trail had been picked up again, the mortal soldiers' spirits lifted; even the Nehekharan undead seemed to march with a little more vigor. Vengeance, justice, and the desire to wipe out the Vampires and their abominations drove the allies onward.

Still, when the armies arrived at the village, they were surprised by what awaited them.

"It seems that Locke was very wrong in his estimates," Richter muttered.

Shepard couldn't disagree with him. Rather than a paltry force of a few hundred undead, there had to be at least two thousand, and they weren't alone. A horde of Skaven was slamming into the undead lines, the screaming rat-men attacking in a desperate frenzy.

The undead were giving as good as they got, their Skeleton Warriors chopping down Skaven, and Zombies resorting to crushing their enemies with their entire bodies. A Warp Lightning Cannon cut down a swathe of undead, while a line of undead knights bowled over a line of disease-ridden Plague Monks.

While the Skaven had started out the battle with greater numbers, it was the Necromancers that were turning the tide. Their own undead could be reconstituted, and dead Skaven further bolstered their ranks. Within minutes, the undead outnumbered the Skaven, and began to overwhelm them.

"Stick to the plan," Shepard ordered calmly. "The Skaven are a problem, but they're focused on the other bad guys. We'll kill two birds with one stone."

Richter saluted, then quickly relayed Shepard's orders to messengers. Once again, Shepard wished for faster communication, and put it on her mental to-do list, right after reinventing electricity. Bringing herself back to the present, she walked over to Stormwing and climbed onto the saddle.

"Prepare for battle!"

…

It was the Skaven who noticed the allies' arrival first. A few sharp-eyed Clanrats spotted Count Leitdorf leading a massed cavalry charge right towards them. They tried to warn the rest of their forces—and by that, they ran away, trailing a line of droppings—but the mounted warriors were already upon them.

Bullets heralded the charge, cutting down scores of rat-men before Leitdorf and the Ironrock Knights crashed into their lines. The charge was devastating, killing hundreds of Skaven and sending many more into a panicked retreat. The attack was slowed when the cavalry reached a large group of Stormvermin, who killed several knights, and again when they encountered an even larger mass of fanatical Plague Monks. The diseases they carried killed several men in moments, and the rest moved around the Skaven, leaving them to the Outriders and Pistoliers, who could kill them from a safe distance.

On the other side of the village, the Tomb Kings rained death upon their hated foes with a barrage of blessed arrows. The Necromancers present were unable to replenish their ranks fast enough, and they were slowed down when one of their number was killed by a lucky arrow. Khalida then ordered the charge, her cavalry and chariots sweeping through the shambling undead. The High Queen herself killed another Necromancer with a blast of magic from her staff, causing a number of the dead man's minions to crumble away.

The remaining Necromancers sought to break out of the encirclement and headed south, only to face a line of artillery and gunners. A rain of cannonballs and bullets tore through the first few ranks of undead, and then the _Mako_ opened fire with everything it had. With Shepard guiding its fire with a birds-eye view, the tank's shots landed right on top of the last Necromancers, completely obliterating them. Within moments of their deaths, the rest of their minions collapsed into piles of bones and rotting meat.

Above the troops, Stormwing let out a triumphant shriek, signaling victory. The Humans and Dwarfs alike cheered, waving weapons over their heads. Ever since coming to this world, this had been the closest thing Shepard had come to a bloodless victory, with only a handful of cavalrymen lost. It might have been a skirmish compared to previous battles, but it was a victory that all of them needed. She allowed herself a moment to feel proud of herself, then urged Stormwing back to the ground.

"All right, guys, we can celebrate later." Shepard shared smiles with Morgrim, Leitdorf, and Khalida. "Let's get the bodies out of here and secure the village. Marius, can you send a message to Averland and have more troops move in?"

"Absolutely, General." Leitdorf saluted with his gore-covered Runefang. "If we turn this village into a true base of operations, the undead will have a hard time dislodging us."

Shepard turned to regard the village again. It was on roughly flat ground, with a small river running past. With some work…

"Forget turning this place into just a base," she said. "We'll need a whole fortress."

"It would have to be a place of inspiration, as well as tactical benefit. Such a place would need a good name." Leitdorf grinned at the prospect. "Perhaps we could call it Shepard Keep?"

Shepard looked vaguely horrified. "No! No, no way in hell. I don't need anything else named after me, and I don't want any more titles!"

"You should be proud of your achievements, General," Khalida said, though she sounded amused. "Why not allow something to bear your name?"

Shepard jerked her thumb at the _Mako_. "Because I already did. Besides, I want people to fight for a cause, not a person. Hero-worship tends to end badly for everyone involved."

"And what cause would you have us all fight for here?" Morgrim asked.

"Protecting the innocent," Shepard immediately replied. "Retribution against those who want nothing short of our extinction, and peace for the next generation." She smiled. "And I like the idea of fighting for each other."

"Well, that gives us quite a few options," Leitdorf said, drawing himself up like he was preparing to make a grand speech. "Personally, I like Retribution Keep."

"Aye," Morgrim said.

Khalida inclined her head. "As do I."

Shepard paused, then shrugged. "It's better than anything I would have come up with, and it doesn't have my name in it. Retribution Keep it is."

…

"They failed." Henrietta didn't ask for details, and she didn't care to hear them. All that mattered was that her army was diminished further.

"Yes, Mistress." The Undertaker bowed, praying to any gods that might still pity him that Henrietta would let him live.

"You told me that your servants' efforts would yield a great number of corpses for my cause." Henrietta placed her hand on one of her swords. "Instead, I find myself with fewer Necromancers, and no new warriors." The Undertaker opened his mouth to speak, but Henrietta silenced him with a glare. "No matter. Prepare what you can. If we cannot win, then we will make the mortals' victory as bitter as possible. Zacharias!"

Henrietta's second bowed his head. "Yes, my Lady?"

"Gather everything we have and prepare to march south." Henrietta's eyes gleamed in the moonlight. "I want Shepard's army destroyed, no matter what it takes. However, I want Shepard alive; capture her if the opportunity presents itself, allow her to escape if she flees. Regardless, she _will_ be brought before me, and she will suffer!"

 **Okay, so this chapter was a lot shorter than I expected it to be, especially since it has been a very long time since my last update. I apologize for that, but I have a very good reason: I'm writing my own book and preparing to release it on my own website (a link will be on my profile when it all goes live, if anyone wants to check it out). That has been taking up most of my time, and will continue to do so. From this point on, updates from me will be sporadic at best, but I** _ **will**_ **keep writing my stories on this site.**

 **Edit: The site is now live, so if anyone wants to check out my book, please go to my profile for the link!**

 **Anyway, back to the summary: not a whole lot went down this chapter, but that's because it was mostly a buildup to the final battle of the arc. That's right, this arc is going to be wrapped up in two chapters, maybe three. I'll do my best to at least reach that point in the coming weeks, but as I said before, my career is taking priority.**

 **Next Chapter: The Vampires charge! Shepard leads her allies in a desperate battle, while Henrietta moves to utterly break her hated foe…**

 **The Tomb Kings build their Ushabti in the image of their gods. They are created with the heads of snakes, crocodiles, and, greatest of them all, Muffins.**


	29. Bitter Harvest, Part 6

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. IT TOOK ME A WHILE, BUT I FINALLY GOT MY UNDEAD BUTLER TO PREPARE A MEAL WITHOUT DROPPING PIECES OF HIMSELF IN IT.**

 **First of all, sorry it's been so long since my last update. I've been focused on my book, and as I'm sure you're all aware, that takes priority over fan fiction. Still, this is fun, so I'll keep going.**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 29

Bitter Harvest, Part 6

" _The General is an honest woman. She'll usually tell you anything if you ask, and if she doesn't want to, she'll say so. There's just one thing that she will_ never _talk about, and if you like having teeth in your skull, you'll heed my warning: Do not ask about Henrietta von Carstein."—Lieutenant Elias Locke_

…

Shepard looked over the plans for Retribution Keep once more and nodded at the progress being made. It had only been a week, but the outer walls were already starting to take shape—thanks to Dwarf strength and undead stamina—and were tall enough to give the allied army cover when the Skaven sent out their attacks. Thankfully, those assaults were increasingly infrequent, and were beaten back with minimal losses.

It was almost disappointing that Shepard would never use the fortress herself. In fact, it wouldn't even be finished before she and her allies had to leave; that matter would be left for the reconstruction. After the war was over, it would probably be used by Stirland to keep this part of the province secure. Regardless, it was a good idea to have the fortress at all; there was a considerable gap in the Empire's defenses in the area, and Retribution Keep filled that gap nicely.

Still, it was nice to design something again, especially with a peer.

"This elevator system is brilliant, General," Grimm Burloksson admitted as he reviewed the blueprints, squinting in the fading light. "With the proper counterweights in place, one man can deliver ammunition and powder in minutes, and never leave his post!"

Shepard smiled modestly. "It's not that big a deal. I've seen fortresses where troops had to carry all that stuff from the armory to the guns, and it drove me crazy. At least for the tower gunners, it'll be simple."

Grimm nodded, then pointed to the design in question. "May I…?"

"Go right ahead." Shepard grinned as Grimm copied down the schematics on his own notebook. "We'll have to leave the blueprints behind for the people who'll finish this place."

"Aye, that we do." Grimm scowled in a way that was common for most Dwarfs, but not for him. "And since I'll be back at Barak Varr, you'll have to make sure that they're doing it right!"

"I'll do my best, but this is the first time I've designed a fortress." Shepard laughed. "I would have scrapped the whole design if you and Morgrim hadn't approved."

"Nothing to worry about there, General; I've seen plenty of fort designs, and yours is sound."

Shepard held back a sigh of relief. Building a fortress was very different than building a weapon or a tank; she had to take local weather, soil composition, available materials, even the attitude of the people who would _use_ the fortress into consideration.

"So, how much longer do we have before we're ready to move out again?" Shepard asked. Despite the labor involved with building even the foundation for a fortress, and the occasional Skaven attacks, the allied army was fairy rested, and was just waiting to be resupplied for a push deeper into Stirland.

"The last of the supplies we need to move out just came in," Grimm said. "We can leave tomorrow."

Shepard's good mood vanished, replaced by determined anger. "All right, then; we can finally finish this stupid war."

"Assuming that Vampire is still close enough for us to catch," Grimm warned. "It's possible that she slipped past us."

"Or she's planning some other way to attack," Shepard countered. "Still, we haven't heard anything unusual from the other fronts, so she might just be biding her time, just like us."

"General! Urgent news!" Hundreds of eyes turned at Locke's shout as he rode in from his patrol; his horse was trembling from the hard sprint the poor creature had been forced to make.

Shepard blew two sharp whistles before Locke even reached her; that was the signal for Richter, who had been nearby, to start organizing the Human troops. "What's going on, Locke?"

"The undead vanguard, coming in from the north, General!" Locke practically leapt from the saddle to run to her. "I only saw part of the force heading our way, but it looks like the entire damned army is heading right for us!"

Shepard paused for only a moment, then turned on her heel and began shouting. "Leitdorf, Morgrim, Khalida! I need ranged units at the wall, and I need them now! Grimm, I'm putting you in charge of the artillery, full coverage for both ground and air! Gregor, pull your knights to the south wall, get ready to charge on my signal! Michael, I want you at the front, and I want these freaks to _burn_! Parral, do whatever you can to keep us all alive! Come on, people, let's move!" She glanced behind her. "Locke, grab a new horse and join your men; you're running interference against any flyers that Vampire bitch sends our way."

Thousands of soldiers, living and undead alike, scrambled to obey; the allied leaders were more dignified, but moved with just as much urgency. None of them had been expecting a counterattack, especially one that contained the whole Vampire army; the allied army was the only thing keeping Henrietta out of the south, and she broke through, she might never be stopped.

One way or another, this war would be over.

…

"We will have to be swift," Zacharias said calmly. "We only outnumber them by a small margin, and many of our minions will be cut down before they reach their lines."

"But we have an advantage," Henrietta countered. "Our soldiers can never truly die, and our numbers grow with each one of theirs we slay. The Humans make up the greater number of their soldiers; if we kill them quickly enough, we can use them to overwhelm the Dwarfs and Tomb Kings."

"That is assuming we can defeat them before reinforcements arrive." What Zacharias didn't say was that he worried that they wouldn't be able to defeat Shepard and her allies at all. Henrietta seemed almost excited at the prospect of her army's utter annihilation; it was like she had thrown away all hope of conquest, instead focusing on settling her score with Shepard.

His suspicions increased when a bat flew up and landed on Henrietta's shoulder. She untied a parchment scroll from its leg and dismissed it with a mental command. After reading the message, she grinned madly.

"Good news, I hope?" Zacharias doubted that it was related to the battle, but he had to ask.

"Oh, it is." Henrietta threw back her head and laughed. "I'm about to get everything I need to utterly destroy that wretched woman! Even if she somehow survives this battle, she'll wish she'd died at my hands years ago!"

As Henrietta cackled and walked off, she left the note behind. Curious, Zacharias picked it up and read its contents.

"Interesting," he mused. "Henrietta is using this for herself, and I might be able to do the same…"

…

Several hours before the battle, Leandra was on the most important mission of her undead life. Not because it was tactically valuable, but because if she failed, Henrietta would kill her in the slowest and most painful way imaginable.

Nuln was a fortress in all but name; its walls were thick and had many guns mounted on it. Hundreds of soldiers patrolled its streets at all times, and the many engineers that called the city home often had more weapons in their workshops than they knew what to do with. It was almost impossible to break into Nuln by force, and it had only happened a few times in the Empire's history.

But Leandra wasn't going to enter the city by force.

Even though she served Henrietta, who was much more direct than Neferata ever was, Leandra was still a Lahmian—subtlety, charm, and guile were her preferred tools. With the Nuln guards busy handling refugees, all it took was a slight application of Vampiric charm and a few honeyed words, and then she was inside the city. At least Henrietta's war had given her additional cover; Leandra had snuck into the city with her armor and weapons hidden only by a long cloak.

Once inside Nuln, Leandra starting looking for anything regarding Alexia Shepard. It didn't take long to persuade a drunken guard to tell her about Shepard's workshop, and how many of the people she cared for stayed there while she was out on campaign. If Leandra's target was anywhere, the workshop would be the best place to look.

The deeper she went into the city, the more Leandra noticed Shepard's name on various things marked 'Public Works'. Sewer entrances, lesser factories, and even a public school all bore her name. In the short time Shepard had been in the city, she'd made quite an impact.

Finally, after doubling back to avoid stricter patrols, Leandra found the main workshop. It wasn't the largest in Nuln, but it was connected to a factory that towered over the nearby buildings. The factory's chimneys belched smoke, but most of the lights were out. The workshop, on the other hand, clearly had people inside; there were also a pair of guards, well-trained by the looks of them.

Leandra was a Lahmian, but she was also a Vampire; sometimes, she just needed to get her hands dirty. The first guard was easily dealt with; Leandra's sword neatly decapitated him. The second, however, put her mission in jeopardy by shouting loudly; he managed to block her first two strikes, but her dagger slipped past his guard and punched through his eye and into his brain.

Her enhanced hearing caught the sound of frightened shouts inside the workshop, and of a baby crying. She was now racing against time; Leandra kicked the door off its hinges and stormed inside. She ignored the tables and shelves filled with blueprints and half-finished models, focusing instead on the half-dozen mortals standing in her way.

"Eliza, run!" The mortal who shouted, a man, drew a pistol, while the other men picked up various tools. The last mortal, a small woman, picked up a bundle and ran out a back door.

Leandra was already moving, almost too fast for a Human to react; her sword pierced one man's chest, and her dagger slashed the throat of another. A third died to her fangs. The mortal with the pistol fired, but the bullet only grazed her cheek; Leandra eviscerated the other surviving man, then picked up the last and hurled him into the wall with enough force to break his bones. She would have made sure that he was dead, but there was no time.

If Shepard's son escaped, Leandra would face her second death.

…

David was crying, and nothing Eliza could do would make him stop. Not that she held any real hope of being quiet enough to escape a Vampire's senses. She considered running and hoping that she would find more guards, but the Vampire would probably catch her before she found help. That left fighting back, but Eliza had never been in a fight in her life. What was she supposed to do against a Vampire!?

But then there was David, still crying in her arms. Eliza didn't even think twice about defending him. She didn't know what she could do against a Vampire, but she knew what she _couldn't_ do: let that monster touch even a single hair on her 'nephew's' head.

And she was an engineer who worked on weapons, who was now in a factory full of said weapons. Despite everything, Eliza smiled.

Maybe there _was_ something she could do.

…

Leandra knew she'd made a mistake. She had thought that the little girl would be easy prey, like so many of the other mortals she'd killed over her long life. What she hadn't expected was a hail of bullets to meet her as soon as she entered the factory.

Two bullets tore through her shoulder. Three more ripped holes in her thigh. Another ripped her ear off. The force from the barrage knocked her off her feet, and sent her scrambling for cover behind an assembly line.

"You're not touching him, bitch!" Eliza screamed from behind a hastily-aimed Heavy Repeater.

Leandra snarled, her fangs fully extended. "I might have let you live if you'd given me the infant, but now, I'll enjoy killing you!"

She stuck her head around the corner, prepared to withdraw as soon as the girl fired her heavy weapon again. Rather than aiming the repeater, however, Eliza was hefting another weapon in her hands, one that Leandra recognized. She was already running when Eliza fired the grenade launcher, which saved her life; she only took a few pieces of shrapnel to the back, rather than being blown to pieces.

Eliza tossed the launcher away and grabbed the Heavy Repeater again, swinging it around and firing at Leandra's position. The Vampire knew that it would only be a matter of time before guards heard the gunfire and explosions, and in her weakened state, she wouldn't be able to fend them off _and_ complete her task.

This had to end.

Gathering her strength, Leandra jumped into the air, only taking a single bullet to the ankle as she did. She practically flew across the room to Eliza's position, landing on the Heavy Repeater and smashing it to pieces. Eliza desperately tried to reach for another weapon, but Leandra was faster; she grabbed the mortal by the throat and slammed her head into the floor, knocking off her glasses and breaking her cheekbone.

It was over and they both knew it, but Eliza continued to fight. She kicked and punched and clawed, but she couldn't hurt Leandra; tears of frustration ran down her face as she struggled.

"Enough of this," Leandra growled, and grabbed Eliza's left arm at the elbow. "I'd kill you slowly, but I must take my leave. Goodbye, wretch."

Eliza screamed.

…

"How many Ghouls did that bitch bring!?" Shepard asked as Stormwing swooped down on yet another pack of the slavering monsters. She had lost count of how many times she and the Griffon had hit the undead lines, but almost every time had involved killing Ghouls.

The battle had gone on for almost an hour, and Shepard was honestly worried that the allied army would run out of ammunition before long. Thousands of undead had been destroyed, mostly before they even reached their lines, but the ones that did still numbered in the hundreds. Even the allies' combined numbers couldn't hold out against Henrietta's forces forever; Shepard had sent messengers to call for reinforcements, but the best-case scenario was that they were already on their way.

On the front lines, Michael, Richter, Morgrim and Leitdorf led their personal guards in a whirlwind of destruction. Swords, hammers and axes shattered skeletons, crushed zombies, and slaughtered Ghouls. The troops around them were inspired to fight harder, and each group of undead that reached them was quickly destroyed.

Despite the heavy fire of the Human and Dwarf artillery, it was Khalida and her own undead that were the stars of the shooting war. Enchanted arrows rained down in waves, breaking apart skeletons and pinning zombies to the ground like insects in a collection. Khalida herself entered the fray, sending bolts of magic from her staff that destroyed dozens of undead.

"A fine showing, my lady!" Leitdorf laughed, his shout loud enough for even Shepard to hear. "Truly, you have earned your crown!"

Khalida's face was hidden by her mask, but she nodded in his direction, and then pointed. "Beware! A champion of the foe!"

Shepard followed her arm, and her eyes went wide. Leading a huge mob of Ghouls and Crypt Horrors was… something. It vaguely reminded her of a Ghoul, but it was bigger, stronger, and had a glimmer of intelligence.

"Ghoul King!" Michael shouted. "General, I will deal with this monstrosity! Save your strength for the real foe!"

Shepard wanted to protest, but she knew he was right; both she and Stormwing were starting to get tired, and if she was going to fight Henrietta, she had to rest. Reluctantly, she had the Griffon land near the gunners behind the wall; while Stormwing rested, Shepard climbed atop the wall to watch her friend battle a monster. She couldn't help but worry—the Ghoul King was the most dangerous thing Michael had fought since losing his eye.

At first, it looked like her fears were justified. While Michael's Swordsmen fell upon the Ghoul King's followers with zealous fury, Michael charged the monster and missed with his first swing. In response, the Ghoul King slashed Michael's side; the claws didn't pierce his armor, but the blow still knocked him back. The claws lashed out again, and this time, Michael only survived by ducking at the last second. Then the Ghoul King kicked him in the knee, forcing him to kneel. He brought his claws up for a final blow, but just before they landed, Michael blocked both of the creature's hands with his hammer.

"I kneel to no creature of darkness!" Michael bellowed. His hammer began to glow, and then his entire body did the same as he rose. The Ghoul King's hands burned where they touched the hammer. "I shall only bow to my lord, Sigmar, _and he is with me now_!"

With a mighty roar, Michael slammed his hammer into the Ghoul King's arm, not only shattering the bone, but also tearing it off at the shoulder. Before the monster could even scream, Michael's next blow came, shattering his jaw and forcing him to his knees. The Ghoul King made a gurgling sound, and then Michael brought his hammer down one more time, shattering his skull in an explosion of gore.

The death of their leader sent the rest of the Ghouls running. Only the Crypt Horrors remained, and they were soon torn apart by Michael's Swordsmen and several other units that rushed to help them.

Those on the allied side who saw the battle cheered at the victory of one of their champions over their enemy's. The more pious Humans among them shouted praise to Sigmar, while the Dwarfs called out gruff praise for Michael's skill. When the Warrior Priest turned to rejoin the line, Shepard raised her axe in salute; Michael returned the gesture with his bloody hammer.

Henrietta's army still outnumbered them, but the allies began to hope that not only would they survive, they would triumph.

…

"Visharos is dead," the Undertaker sighed. "I never liked him, but he was useful. The Vengeful Lady will not be pleased."

Zacharias, seated atop his Zombie Dragon, shrugged; he sincerely doubted that Henrietta cared either way. Now that he thought about it, however, he hadn't seen Henrietta since the battle had begun. When he couldn't see her from where he was, he urged his mount into the air for a better view, but still saw no sign of her.

With a mounting sense of horror, Zacharias looked at the note Henrietta had left. Was it possible that she had abandoned her army? Were things so bad here that she thought it wasn't worth her time and went to pursue her personal vendetta?

 _And I thought_ I _would be the first to abandon this war,_ Zacharias thought bitterly. _Now, I might be the only one who can lead us out of this disaster._

"Send in the wraiths," he ordered as his Dragon landed. "Send in the Vargheists, send every beast and spirit we have! They will throw the enemy into disarray long enough for us to break through."

"What then?" The Undertaker looked afraid for the first time since Zacharias had met him. The Necromancer appeared to have reached the same conclusion about Henrietta. "Where can we go?"

"South, to Black Fire Pass." It was an impromptu plan, but Zacharias saw merit in it. "We can raise the dead there, and that will buy us enough time to escape. Then we can go to the Border Princes; it will be much easier to carve out a kingdom of our own there."

They would have to abandon most of their minions on the way; the Border Princes weren't nearly as powerful as the Empire, but they were strong enough to hold off the remnants of an army. It would be easier to sneak in with just Vampires and Necromancers and corrupt it all from within.

"Very well." The Undertaker chanted spells under his breath, bending the various spirits in the army to his will and sending them headlong at the allied forces. Overhead, the few remaining Vargheists shrieked and dove towards mortal flesh. Moments later, the rest of the army wheezed and rattled as it marched forward.

As Zacharias took to the air again, he saw a Griffon in the distance; on its back was an armored figure, holding a glowing axe over their head. That had to be Shepard; while he had no personal grudge against the woman, he knew that at least part of the army would collapse if she were to die.

His army would fight its battle, and he would fight his own.

…

Shepard took a long breath to calm herself, but it was hard. Easily twenty thousand undead were charging, and even though she was in the air, it still felt like they were all coming straight for her.

The troops didn't need any orders from her. They knew what they had to do. Skeleton Archers, Dwarf Thunderers, Imperial Handgunners, and every piece of artillery they had poured fire into the oncoming horde. The _Mako_ blew a Vargheist in half with a lucky shot. As the undead got closer, flamethrowers unleashed their fury, burning hundreds of them.

The problem, however, was the mass of spirits that swept through the ranks. Ominous wraiths that wielded huge scythes hacked down dozens of Humans, Dwarfs, and Nehekharans in moments. Others rode on ghostly steeds, with both rider and horse flickering with ethereal fire as they trampled and hacked down their foes. Still more spirits swarmed over helpless victims, stabbing and clawing until they were torn apart.

It was magic that saved them; the spirits were all but immune to normal attacks, but spells from Gettmann, Khalida, and the Jade Wizards that knew offensive magic were able to blunt the assault. Dwarfs with runic weapons banished spirits with a single strike, and Michael's raw faith dissolved them just from being nearby. Within minutes, the spirits were all but gone.

Still, the damage was done; the center of the allies' line was in disarray, and that was when the rest of the undead army struck. Skeleton Warriors and Zombies crushed their opponents with sheer weight of numbers, while undead knights trampled unprepared infantry. If something wasn't done soon, the undead would punch through.

Thankfully, Shepard had one more trick up her sleeve. "Gregor! Locke! Now!"

It had taken some convincing, but Leitdorf and Khalida had agreed to hide their cavalry with the Ironrock Knights as a heavy reserve. At Shepard's signal, nearly five hundred mounted warriors rode around the fortress, sweeping into the Vampire army's flank. On the other side, Locke and his light cavalry rode parallel to the fighting, firing wildly into the mass of undead. In moments, the tide turned from an overwhelming defeat for the allies into a bloody stalemate; it wasn't ideal, but it was better than a rout.

A wheezing roar dragged Shepard's attention away from the battle below. Coming at her fast was a Zombie Dragon, and riding it was a Vampire in thick armor. He carried a huge lance in one hand, a thick shield in the other, and a sword was sheathed at his hip.

The Vampire didn't say anything, but his intention was clear: he wanted to fight her.

Shepard was happy to oblige. "Let's get him, buddy!"

Stormwing roared, answering the challenge, and charged the Dragon. The Vampire's lance gave him better reach, but Shepard's weapon was easier to handle. She allowed the lance to skim across Spellmaw, then swung Unbak Urk in a wide arc that smashed into the Vampire's shield. Unlike hers, the Vampire's shield was destroyed, and a chunk of his arm was sliced off.

Unfortunately, Stormwing wasn't as successful; the Dragon's talons carved a nasty gash on his flank, while he had only broken one of the monster's ribs with his beak.

Rather than simply drop his lance for his more maneuverable sword, the Vampire used his unnatural strength to hurl it like a javelin. Shepard managed to bring up Spellmaw again, but the impact nearly tore her from the saddle.

"You want to play dirty, asshole?" Shepard drew her repeater pistol with her shield-hand. "I can play dirty, too!"

Shepard fired all of her shots into the Vampire's chest; two deflected off his baroque armor, but the rest buried into dead flesh. The Vampire reared back, and Shepard took her chance; Stormwing flew in, ripping apart the muscles and tendons of the Zombie Dragon's neck, while Shepard slammed Unbak Urk into her opponent's wounded arm, cleaving through it and into his ribcage.

With a sickening tearing sound, the Zombie Dragon's head fell from its neck; without its master's concentration, the beast was falling apart from the damage it had sustained. Both the creatures and their riders tumbled from the sky, Stormwing's talons unable to get free of the decaying bones and flesh. It was only at the last second that he broke away, shrieking in triumph as his undead foe crashed into the ground.

The victory didn't last for long; Stormwing had taken a bad hit, and had to land, or risk bleeding to death. Shepard urged him to the ground; she could see Parral already on his way, so he could fix the Griffon up while she made sure that the Vampire was dead.

Amazingly, he wasn't; his legs were crushed beneath his dead mount, and his blood dripped sluggishly from his wounds. Still, he seemed more annoyed than anything else.

"I knew… this was a bad idea," he said as Shepard approached. "I never should have joined the von Carstein woman. Her madness has doomed us all."

Shepard glanced around; the undead still outnumbered the allies, and it would only be a matter of time before they ran out of ammunition, and out of energy. She was about to point out as much, but then a new sound reached her ears. At first, she thought it was a group of Zombies that had broken through the line, but the moans were different. They were full of pain and despair and rage, things that Zombies didn't experience.

And then a new voice bellowed out over the sound of war.

"FORWARD! FOR SIGMAR AND THE EMPIRE!"

Hurtling into the rear of the undead force was… well, it couldn't be called an army in even the loosest sense. It was more of an army-sized mob, made up of screaming men and women clad only in rags and waving flails over their heads. Thousands of Flagellants charged headlong into the undead ranks; they were so caught up in their own fury that some of them killed each other, or even themselves.

Leading the horde of lunatics was a man carried in the most ornate chariot Shepard had ever seen. It looked more like a small cathedral on wheels, pulled by two armored horses. On top of the cathedral was a massive golden Griffon that clutched a huge hammer. The entire thing glowed with golden light, just like Michael at his most pious, and almost looked like an artificial sun in the night.

The man riding the War Altar of Sigmar—an artifact that Shepard had heard of, but never seen before now—was as impressive as his vehicle. He was old and bald, with an impressive grey mustache. His robes were white, and he had a glowing jade Griffon on his chest; in one hand he held a staff with a tiny version of the Griffon on the Altar, and in the other, he carried a hammer.

Shepard had never met Grand Theogonist Volkmar the Grim, but she had heard of what he was capable of. By words alone, he had roused thousands of Flagellants from across the Empire, shepherding them towards this one battle. This nigh-uncontrollable force was now slamming into the back of the undead army; it was likely unintentional, but that was where many of the Necromancers and lesser Vampires had been, where they could safely control their minions. Most of them died before even realizing what had happened.

"IN THE NAME OF SIGMAR, I PURGE YOU FROM THIS LAND, WITCH!" Volkmar roared as he brought his hammer down on the Undertaker's head. Though he was old, the Grand Theogonist was still strong enough to pulp the Necromancer's skull.

With the deaths of their masters, the undead army began to fall apart. In minutes, the only undead still standing were those that fought alongside the Empire.

Despite the sudden and overwhelming victory, the cost to the allied army was high. At least five hundred of Shepard's men were dead from this battle alone; that meant her army had nearly been cut in half after the campaign. Morgrim had lost well over a hundred of his warriors, and Leitdorf had lost hundreds of his own. Khalida was the only one who didn't need to worry about casualties; her Liche Priests brought the fallen back once the battles were over.

"General Shepard?" Shepard blinked, then turned to see Volkmar, who had gotten off the War Altar and was walking towards her. "Might I have a word?"

Shepard glanced back at her officers as they gathered; Gregor nodded, indicating that he would manage things while she was occupied. The others nodded as well, save for Parral; he was busy tending to Stormwing.

"What can I do for you, sir?" Shepard briefly wondered if calling him 'sir' was incorrect, but was suddenly too tired to care. "Thanks for the rescue, by the way."

"You are most welcome." Volkmar smiled, his serenity a stark contrast to his earlier wrath. "I was wondering if you were going to finish off that Vampire. He does not seem to be going anywhere."

Shepard blinked again, then nodded. She knelt down by the Vampire and held Unbak Urk close to his head. "Where's Henrietta? I didn't see her in the battle."

The Vampire chuckled. "She gave up on conquest, and she gave up on us. All she cares about is hurting you, and she has." He reached into a pouch, drew out a small piece of parchment, and handed it to her. "If you hurry, you might stop her in time. It would be my final act of revenge; give her my regards when you slaughter her."

Shepard read the note, and for an instant, it felt like the entire universe had stopped.

 _I have Shepard's child. I will meet you in the clearing, two miles outside Nuln._

"No…" Shepard whispered. "No, no, no, _fucking no_!"

Heads turned as Shepard's voice rose to a shout. Even Khalida was surprised by the rage, fear and despair that Shepard radiated.

"Parral, can Stormwing fly?" Shepard demanded, ignoring even the helpless Vampire.

"Er, yes, but he still needs to rest—"

"No time!" Shepard actually pushed Parral out of the way and jumped onto the saddle. "Take care of things here, I need to get to Nuln!" A large part of her refused to believe that David was gone. She patted Stormwing on the neck. "Home, buddy—home to David!"

Stormwing could sense his rider's distress; that, coupled with David's name, made him forget all about his pain and fatigue. Something was threatening Shepard's hatchling, and now his protective instincts were in overdrive.

In seconds, the two were gone, leaving everyone else with a feeling of foreboding.

…

It was a long flight to Nuln, even with Stormwing flying at his fastest. Shepard could feel the poor Griffon's heartbeat hammering through the saddle, but she couldn't afford to let him slow down.

 _He has to be safe. Eliza would die before letting anything happen to David._ Shepard viciously silenced the part of her mind that wondered if that had happened.

After what seemed like an agonizingly long flight, Shepard spotted the towers of Nuln. "Just a little longer, buddy. Home! Go home!"

Stormwing cawed weakly, but put in just a little more effort. If Shepard had been in the right state of mind, she would have been moved by the Griffon's loyalty. However, all she cared about was getting to her son, to see that Henrietta had failed, and that this was all just a nightmare of a joke.

It was less of a landing in front of Shepard's workshop and more of a controlled crash. Stormwing tumbled and squawked in pain, but he made sure that Shepard was able to run; he had just enough energy to watch her reach the door, and then he collapsed from exhaustion.

Shepard almost punched someone who got in her way, but instead tried to sidestep them. When that person grabbed her by the shoulder, she drew back her fist to _actually_ punch them, but managed to stop when she realized who it was.

"Alexia, what's wrong?"

"Felix? Gotrek?" Shepard paused, dumbstruck that now, of all times, her one-time lover and his Slayer companion were here again. "What are you—never mind, I don't have time! Follow me and shut up!"

Gotrek and Felix shared a surprised glance; they had clearly expected a warmer welcome, and it was disturbing that Shepard was so distressed. They followed after her as she ran into the workshop, their hands already reaching for weapons.

Shepard's fear increased as she passed by several bodies. They were covered in sheets and guarded by members of the city watch. Only one person on the ground was still alive, and that was Leitzer; he was unconscious, and his bones were in positions that they shouldn't have been, but he was breathing.

"General Shepard?" One of the guards pointed to the door connecting the workshop to the factory. "There's another one that's still alive in there, but she's—"

Shepard ran past, not even letting the man finish. Some of her engineers were dead, Leitzer was in bad shape, but she refused to accept that David might be—

She froze as she entered the factory. There was damage everywhere, and there was a lot of blood. Too much blood for a baby, but enough for a small woman. Shepard stumbled as she approached Eliza.

"Alexia…" Eliza looked up at her through teary eyes. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"

The fact that Eliza was still alive was a minor miracle. One side of her face was swollen, she was covered in deep cuts, and her left arm had been savagely crushed and torn off from just below the elbow. She was pale from blood loss, and shaking terribly; the only reason she lived at all was thanks to the quick actions of the guards, who had managed to stop the bleeding.

"Get…" Shepard swallowed bile and turned to a guard. "Get a Jade Wizard. Get one of them here right fucking now!" Once the man ran off, Shepard turned back to her adopted sister. "Eliza, where is David?"

"I tried," Eliza sobbed. "I tried to fight her, but she was too fast, too strong… David just kept crying, and I fought, but I couldn't stop her! Please, Alexia, I tried, I—"

"I'll get him back," Shepard said, kneeling down and gently taking Eliza's remaining hand in her own. "I _will_ get him back."

Eliza nodded, but continued to cry. Shepard did her best to make sure that she was comfortable, then turned to Gotrek and Felix.

Felix glanced at Eliza, then at Shepard. "Alexia, what the hell is going on!?"

By this point, Shepard knew that her son had been taken. Instead of giving in to despair, she channeled it into rage. "A Vampire kidnapped my son. I'm going to get him back."

Felix was many things, but stupid wasn't one of them. Shepard had never told him that she had given birth to his child, but she could see the gears turning.

"What can we do to help?" he asked.

Shepard pulled out the note from before. "They're at a clearing in the forest not far from the city. If we hurry, we can make it."

"What're we waiting for?" Gotrek hefted his axe. "Let's go!"

…

With Stormwing too exhausted to fly, the trio settled for horses, and they galloped into the night at full speed. Shepard had an idea of what to expect, and laid out a rough plan as they rode.

"Are you sure about this, Alexia?" Shepard almost smiled at the concern in Felix's voice. "This plan of yours is very risky, especially to you."

"It's the best chance we have," Shepard replied. "I'd rather risk myself than David."

After a few minutes of hard riding through the forest, Shepard's wolf-helm picked up the familiar sound of a baby crying. She brought her horse to a stop and dismounted; after checking which way the wind was blowing, she pointed to the right. Gotrek and Felix nodded, dismounted, and headed deeper into the forest.

Shepard took a deep breath, and pushed on. It didn't take long for her to reach the clearing, and she did not like what she saw.

Henrietta von Carstein was holding David in her arms, a triumphant smile on her face. At her side was another female Vampire, though this one was badly injured, and Shepard made a note to praise Eliza later. There were also several Grave Guard standing watch, all armed with enormous blades.

"Ah, you're here at last." Henrietta's smile turned vicious. "I was right to leave that clue with Zacharias."

"What, you wanted me here?" Shepard knew she had to keep Henrietta talking; the longer she stalled, the best chance Gotrek and Felix had.

"Of course, fool. I knew Zacharias would betray me if I was gone, and I wanted you all to myself. If you died at his hands, so be it; I would escape with your legacy. If you won, you would come running to save your precious spawn. Mortals are so predictable."

"Fine, here I am," Shepard said. "Let my son go."

"Well, now that you're here, I don't need your son… yet." Henrietta handed David over to the other Vampire, then whipped out one of her swords and held the point at his throat. "You won't be given a chance to struggle. Drop your weapons. Now!"

Slowly, Shepard placed her axe, shield, and gun on the forest floor. At that moment, Henrietta held all the cards.

"Your helmet, too. I want to watch the life fade from your eyes."

Shepard removed her helmet, but didn't look at Henrietta; instead, she looked at David, who had finally stopped crying when he saw his mother's face.

"Hey, little man," she said in a happy tone. "Don't worry, everything's going to be okay."

"Are you so sure?" Henrietta moved like quicksilver, both blades drawn now. "I've been waiting years for this! I am going to make you _suffer_!"

One sword plunged into Shepard's thigh, then the other, forcing her to her knees. The other sword pierced her forearm and out the other side. Henrietta pinned her arm to the ground, then ran her shoulder through with the other blade.

The whole time, Shepard didn't scream, or even register Henrietta's presence at all. She kept her focus on David, even managing to smile.

"It's going to be okay," she repeated, though her voice was faint.

Henrietta grabbed her by the hair and yanked her up, the motion tearing open her wounds further. "Don't give false hope to something that can't even understand you! Look at me, Commander Alexia Shepard!" At that, Shepard finally looked Henrietta in the eye. The Vampire smiled and held out a tarnished chain and a pair of tags. "Yes, I know who you are. I've kept this ever since you murdered my child. Now, you're going to watch as I kill yours. Only then will I kill you."

Shepard tried to rise, but the swords still pinned her to the ground. "No! Kill me if you want, but leave my baby out of this, you evil bitch! You even scratch him and I'll rip you apart, I swear!"

Henrietta only laughed as she drew a dagger and held it over David. Once again, the universe froze, and Shepard, helpless, did the only thing she could think of: she prayed.

 _Please, Sigmar, give me the strength to save him, and if not me, then let his father do it! Please, I'm begging you!_

Henrietta plunged the dagger down.

"NO!"

The shout didn't just come from Shepard, but from Gotrek and Felix as well. In an orange blur, Gotrek had placed himself between Henrietta and David, taking the dagger on his meaty shoulder. Felix moved just as fast, shattering the Grave Guard in his way before decapitating the other Vampire. David had barely begun to fall, but Felix caught him in his other arm and spun to bleed off momentum. When he stopped, he held his sword protectively between Henrietta and his son.

With her only remaining weapon buried in thick Dwarf muscle, Henrietta backpedaled to where Shepard lay and ripped the swords free in a wash of blood. Shepard knew that she was going to try to finish her off, and put all of her strength into one last move. Her armored boot slammed into the back of Henrietta's knee, staggering her just enough. Shepard rolled to where her weapons rested, grabbed Unbak Urk, and hurled it.

Henrietta sneered as she leaned out of the way of the spinning axe. "Please, don't make me laugh."

To her surprise, Shepard sneered right back. "I wasn't aiming at you."

Henrietta turned too late. Gotrek, now wielding both axes, slammed into her; his own axe cleaved Henrietta's left hand off, while Unbak Urk split her skull and kept going, all the way down to her sternum. With a grunt, Gotrek ripped the axe free; a moment later, Henrietta von Carstein turned to dust and a pile of ruined armor.

For a moment, no one moved; then, with a groan, Shepard collapsed. Gotrek was at her side an instant before Felix was.

"Is he…?" Shepard weakly reached for David. "Did she bite him?"

Felix quickly examined the baby, checking for bite marks. "No, he's still Human."

Finally, Shepard let the tears fall, and then everything went black.

 **Aaaand… story's done! You can all go home!**

 **Nah, I'm just kidding, that would be such a dick move. Seriously, though, this was the last battle for the arc. Next chapter is just going to be cleanup.**

 **So, yeah. Injury count for this arc:**

 **Michael lost an eye.**

 **Shepard got fucked up (seriously, I think these were the worst injuries she's sustained so far, possibly even worse than when she arrived).**

 **And Eliza lost an arm. And got stabbed a lot. I swear, this is the last time I'm hurting her, and I feel like the worst for doing all this** _ **to a fictional character**_ **.**

 **But, hey, Henrietta's dead! Shepard's personal nemesis is dismembered dust! Thanks, Gotrek and Felix!**

 **And I figured that this would be a neat time to bring them in for a bit. They just happened to be in the Empire again, probably hadn't even heard about the war yet, but wanted to say hi to Shepard. That's their kind of luck. And Shepard's, too, come to think of it; remember all the times she ran into old friends in Mass Effect 3? And now Felix knows he's a daddy. That's gonna be fun.**

 **Like I said at the beginning, I'm sorry that this took so long, but if it helps, it only took about 2 days to actually write. I'll be going back to my book for a while, so if you want to read that, check out the link on my profile.**

 **Next Chapter: The Aftermath**

 **Those that fall to the Muffin armies soon rise again…**


	30. Bitter Harvest, Part 7

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. WELL, THE WAR'S OVER, DOES THAT MEAN I HAVE TO GIVE UP MY UNDEAD BUTLER? BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO. HE FINALLY LEARNED TO OPEN THE DOOR AND NOT KILL VISITORS.**

 **Not a whole lot to say right now. I'm just excited to finally finish this arc.**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 30

Bitter Harvest, Part 7

" _She had already proven herself as a soldier and an engineer. Before the war with the undead, the people considered her a hero. It was during the reconstruction, she went from being admired to being loved."—Excerpt from 'History of the Empire', Vol. 27_

…

Shepard laughed as Stormwing poked her with his beak. Laughing made her wounds ache, but she couldn't help it. After everything that had happened, she needed the laugh, and she found the Griffon's overprotective attitude positively adorable.

"Cut it out, you big worrywart," Shepard said, gently shoving Stormwing's head away. "We're okay."

Stormwing somehow managed to give her a disbelieving look, but withdrew his head from the window. He walked to the other side of the hospital and stuck his head through another, to the other person in a bed and began nuzzling her.

"Oh, thank you, Stormwing." Eliza smiled and stroked the Griffon's feathers with her remaining hand. No one was quite sure how, but Stormwing somehow knew that Eliza had fought like a champion to protect David, and that had elevated her status in his eyes.

A week had passed since the final battle of the war, and the Empire was still assessing all the damage. At least fifteen thousand Humans, both soldier and civilians, had died, as had nearly three thousand Dwarfs. Stirland was ravaged and corrupted, though Warrior Priests and Light Wizards were already starting to purify the land. Still, it would be a long time before any Stirlander felt safe again.

Shepard was also on the road to recovery. Her wounds were bad, but Parral had done everything he could to prevent permanent damage. She would still have a few new scars, but she was no longer at risk, and just needed time to rest and finish healing naturally. Parral had also tended to Eliza; aside from her lost arm, the rest of her injuries were gone without a trace. Like Shepard, she just needed to rest.

Hospitals like the one Shepard was in were filled to capacity with the wounded; the only reason Shepard and Eliza had a floor all to themselves was because Emmanuelle had ordered it. She had also personally apologized to Shepard for her guards' failure to keep David safe. Shepard had been too relieved that David was all right to be mad; besides, Henrietta was dead, and would never threaten her son again.

Thinking of David made Shepard sit up and look at the crib that was positioned between her and Eliza's beds. Despite his mother's laughter, David was fast asleep; he had cried more than usual for the first two days after the kidnapping, but he had since calmed down.

Perhaps it had something to do with his father being present. Felix, now aware that he had a son, had practically moved into the hospital, staying in the next room and doing everything he could to make the patients more comfortable. At first, Shepard had found it adorable, but when Felix started treating her like glass, she asked Gotrek—who had been shocked to find out that Felix had procreated—to 'spar' with him to break him of the habit. After coming back with a black eye and a limp, Felix returned to his usual self.

"He's got my hair," Felix said, once Eliza, still weak from her injuries, went to sleep.

"You've said that before," Shepard pointed out quietly. She winced as she pushed herself into a sitting position. "In fact, that's _all_ you've said about him."

"He's, uh… got your smile?"

"You've never seen him smile."

Felix spread his hands in surrender. "I don't know, he's a baby! They're all the same to me!"

Shepard raised an eyebrow, and Stormwing snorted quietly. "You're really not earning dad-points."

"I'm aware." Felix sighed and sat on the edge of Shepard's bed. He was quiet for a long moment. "I wish I'd known."

Shepard hid a wince; up until now, Felix had been too busy to ask why she never told him about David, even if he knew the answer.

"I would have told you," she said. "If I knew how to keep in touch with you, I'd have told you as soon as I found out I was pregnant."

For a moment, Felix looked like he wanted to argue, but then it passed; instead, he smiled at her. It wasn't the tender, loving smile he'd given her during their night together at Karak Eight Peaks; rather, it was that of a caring friend. A part of Shepard felt sad that he no longer had that attraction to her; at the same time, that same spark she'd had for him had long since died out as well.

But then there was David, a child they'd conceived when there had been _something_ between them.

"So… what happens now?" she asked.

"I don't know," Felix admitted. "I want to get to know him, but I'm not sure I'd make a good father. And then there's Gotrek…"

Shepard made a decision. "David will be here, waiting for you. I promise that he'll be the best kid in the world."

Felix looked surprised. "Are you sure? Maybe I could talk to Gotrek about the oath I made—"

"You want to break an oath with a Dwarf? You wouldn't even make it back here." Shepard's tone was joking, but they both knew it was true. "Just promise me that you'll come and visit every chance you get. David deserves to know who his father is." Smiling impishly, she pulled a book out from underneath her pillow. "Besides the stories here, I mean."

"Please, don't read him those." Felix actually looked horrified, which made Shepard laugh. "Really, don't."

"Why? Because of the violence, or because you're a… what's the polite way to say it?" Shepard grinned. "Ah, yes, a bit of a flirt."

"I don't want him to try and imitate me!"

Shepard leaned back, her grin turning smug. "Please, he's made of you and me. He won't have to put any effort into getting a lady friend."

Felix groaned.

Shepard finally took pity on him and changed the subject. "Hey, did Khalida have any issues leaving? I know that Volkmar was giving her some problems."

"No, she and her army left through Black Fire Pass yesterday. She did, however, ask to have this delivered to you." Felix pulled a piece of fine cloth out from his bag; sewn into the cloth was a snake symbol, identical to the ones Shepard had seen in Khalida's army. "She said that if you need her help against the Vampires again, simply present this symbol, and no one in Nehekhara will stop you. Unless you attack the Tomb Kings first, of course."

Shepard took the cloth and smiled. "I make the weirdest friends, don't I?"

"Indeed. Speaking of friends, the Dwarfs are all heading back to their holds. Morgrim and that engineer, Grimm, left a few things for you as well." Felix handed her a carefully-folded note, as well as several rolled-up sheets of paper.

The note was simply a letter from Morgrim, wishing her well and not blaming her for her sudden departure from the battle. It had been all but over, and her son was in danger. Dwarfs didn't have a word for forgiveness, but according to Morgrim, there was nothing to forgive. The note did contain a warning, however—if Shepard _had_ abandoned her allies in the middle of a battle, there would have been consequences. She took the warning for what it was, and resolved not to let it reach that point.

The sheets of paper, however, were of a lighter nature. They contained the blueprints and schematics for several projects that she and Grimm had worked on during what free time they'd had. Before leaving the designs to Shepard, Grimm had decided to add dozens of notes and annotations haphazardly scribbled across each page. Shepard almost laughed; it reminded her of when she and Mordin would discuss academia, and both would add in notes to the other's writings seemingly at random.

"Then there's this." Felix actually looked sour as he pulled a final note from his bag. "Count Leitdorf asked me to give this to you when you were well enough."

Shepard began to read, but didn't even get halfway through before laughing. She had to cover her face with her pillow before her laughter grew hysterical. The Count had sent her a collection of poems; specifically, they were _raunchy_ poems that somehow managed to make her look like a conquering champion, insult the fidelity of the Vampires' mothers, and also compliment Shepard's beauty. Amazingly, the poems were quite good, and it was unlikely that Leitdorf had meant them to be funny—then again, maybe he did—but Shepard laughed harder than she had in years.

By the time she was done, Felix was clearly annoyed; whether it was because the poems were about the mother of his child, or because they were better than anything _he'd_ written was unknown, and Shepard didn't have the heart to ask.

"Alexia?" Despite Shepard's attempt to keep quiet, she had woken up Eliza. "What's so funny?"

Shepard giggled and handed over the poems, despite Felix's protests. He would have tried to take the note from Shepard's hand, but a stern look from Stormwing stopped him. After Eliza fully woke up and awkwardly put her glasses on with her one hand, she began to read. At first, she started to laugh, but then her face turned red as she reached the more risqué parts.

"I, uh… I see." Eliza quickly handed the poems back to Shepard.

"Too much?" Shepard guessed, and laughed when Eliza blushed harder. "Ooh, you're going to have a lot to discuss with Locke."

Eliza nodded and kept a straight face, but Shepard could see a trace of pain in her eyes, eyes that flickered down to her stump. It didn't take Shepard long to figure out what was wrong—Eliza was worried that Locke would no longer find her attractive. That needed to be nipped in the bud.

"Hey, speaking of Locke, I need to give him a message." Shepard pulled out a quill, ink and parchment from the small table she had on the other side of her bed and quickly wrote down what she needed. "Felix, could you give this to him?"

Like Shepard, Felix was quick on the uptake; he had never met Eliza before, and his interactions with Locke had been minimal, but he suspected what was going on.

"Of course, Alexia; I'll take care of it immediately." Felix gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead and a hesitantly fond look at David before taking his leave.

Shepard waited until he was gone, then stretched out her arms. It pulled at her scars, but she was stiff from lying in bed for so long. She was going to talk to Eliza, but the girl was already back to sleep. Unlike before, though, she didn't look as peaceful.

"Fucking Vampires," Shepard muttered softly. "Poor girl's already been through so much, and now this?"

Her eyes drifted down to Eliza's stump, and another idea came to mind. She grabbed another piece of parchment and began to sketch; it was only a rough design at that moment, but it would help keep the idea in her head long enough to work out all the details in her workshop. Maybe she would be able to convince Parral to let her out tomorrow so that she could get started.

…

Five days later, Shepard felt a surge of triumph as she stepped away from her workbench. It was far from perfect, especially when compared to designs back home, but it was definitely better than anything made in the Empire. She would have finished building it sooner, but after being released from the hospital, she had to spend time talking to Karl Franz, Emmanuelle, and several other officials, and two days passed before she could have some time to herself. What annoyed her was that though she was required to discuss so many administrative details that she had no real say in, yet she was all but forbidden to do any heavy construction until Parral said she was fully recovered. Even her current project had been reluctantly approved, but only because Shepard insisted it was to help people.

Whistling happily, Shepard began her walk home, with her creation tucked safely into a bag on her shoulder and Stormwing at her side. The Griffon had recovered from his own injuries and exhaustion, and now escorted Shepard everywhere she went; he now had a temporary pen right outside her home, and Shepard toyed with the idea of having a permanent pen constructed on top of her house. She nodded at the two guards stationed at the door and walked inside.

"Hey, I'm home!" Shepard called out as she entered the house. "Eliza, you up?"

"Yes, I'm here with David!" Eliza had been released from the hospital the day after Shepard, and was resting comfortably in her room. Shepard had to help her with some things, like getting dressed, but Eliza was more cheerful, especially after insisting that she could look after David while his mother was out.

"How are you two?" Shepard asked as she walked into Eliza's room.

"I'm fine," Eliza said, then pointed at David. "I think he's trying to talk again."

"Ah! Wah!" David giggled and clapped his hands.

"Someone's in a good mood," Shepard teased, kissing the top of David's head before turning to Eliza. "I have something for you."

With her large glasses, Eliza's curious look was adorable. "What is it?"

Shepard opened the bag slowly, for dramatic effect. "Ta-da!"

Eliza stared at the item for a long moment. "You got me… an arm?"

"Well… I _made_ it, but, yeah."

The prosthetic Shepard had built had a thin metal rod in place of bones, and a shell made out of wood. On the wider end was a series of leather straps, while the other end had a wooden hand. The fingers could actually be posed and locked into place, and the wrist could be turned, though it had to all be done with Eliza's right hand. Sadly, prosthetics were practically nonexistent in this world; most people were lucky to get a chunk of wood for a leg and a hook for a hand.

Shepard held the prosthetic out towards Eliza. "Go on, try it out!"

Eliza bit her lip, then hesitantly rolled back her left sleeve, exposing her bandaged stump; she had just enough of her forearm left to move her elbow, but not much. The prosthetic fit over that stump, and Shepard buckled the straps around her elbow.

"Sorry, but I took your measurements while you were sleeping," Shepard said as she finished. "Is this too tight?"

"Uh, no, it's fine." Eliza looked stunned. "Alexia, why would you do this?"

Shepard frowned. "Because you're family. I take care of my family."

Eliza held up her new arm, adjusting the wooden fingers with her living ones. "This is…" She broke out in tears before she could finish, and settled for hugging Shepard tightly. "Thank you."

Shepard returned the hug. "You're welcome."

"Ma!"

Both women froze at the familiar sound, then turned to see David; he was looking up at them with quite the serious face for a baby.

"Ma! Mama!" David held up his hands, clearly demanding to be picked up.

Shepard eyes stung with tears. David had said his first word, and it was her!

"I guess he wants in on the hug," Shepard chuckled, then lifted David into her arms. "Can you say 'Eliza'?"

Eliza squeaked, even as she wrapped her arms around Shepard again.

David looked up at his 'aunt' and gurgled for a moment. "Za! Wyza!"

Eliza blinked away her own tears and smiled. "Close enough, I guess."

…

Later that night, Shepard gathered her officers, along with Gotrek, Felix, Eliza, and a recovered Leitzer, for a celebration. It was mostly to celebrate that they were alive to celebrate at all, though nearly everyone stopped to admire Eliza's new arm. Leitzer in particular wanted to know more about the craftsmanship.

"There are so many people, soldiers, mostly, who have lost limbs," he said. "This could help them, at least a little."

"We'd have to set up some kind of care system to handle that," Shepard added. "Maybe Parral can convince his College to collaborate with some engineers and hospitals? We could really make a difference in the medical department."

"Are you two talking about work again?" Richter crossed his arms and gave the two stern looks. "We're supposed to be celebrating."

Shepard and Leitzer shared sheepish grins and returned to the party. As Shepard took a glass of wine from Felix, she noticed that Eliza was nervously whispering to Locke, who listened with uncharacteristic seriousness. After a moment, he nodded and took her hand—Shepard didn't miss how he deliberately took her prosthetic one—and led her outside. Locke had received Shepard's letter that practically ordered him to talk to Eliza, but it wasn't until now that he was able to do so.

Everyone noticed that, but Shepard held up a finger to her lips and made her way to the window closest to the couple so that she could listen in; to her annoyance, she couldn't see them, but she could hear. Either she was about to be very happy, or very upset.

"I'm sorry that I haven't spoken to you sooner," Locke said.

"It's fine." Eliza tried to wave it off, but there was obvious pain in her voice.

"No, it is not." Locke paused. "I heard that you fought like a lion to save the General's son."

"I did everything I could…" Eliza's voice wobbled; clearly, she was still shaken by what had happened. "But I'm not a soldier, and David got taken, and—"

"With all due respect to General Shepard and her son, I'm not as concerned about that." Realizing what he'd said, Locke quickly backtracked. "I mean, I would have, if David had been harmed, but he wasn't, so it's not bad." He coughed. "It's you that I worried for. Like you said, you're not a soldier, but you fought anyway. I'm honored to be so close to one so brave."

Shepard heard breathing behind her; she turned to see Richter, Felix, and Leitzer listening in as well. Everyone else was rolling their eyes at their antics.

"Come on, say the words," Shepard muttered.

"I, um…" It seemed that Eliza was at a loss.

Locke, however, wasn't. "When I heard that you'd been hurt, the only thing I could think about was how I would never be able to say all the things I wanted to say, or do the things I wanted to do." There was a pause, and then a gasp from Eliza. "Eliza Schwarzer, will you marry me?"

"Are you sure?" Eliza sounded on the verge of crying. "I mean, with how I am now…"

"I've never been more sure about anything in my life," Locke said, more serious than Shepard had ever heard him. "I love you, Eliza."

There was a very long pause, and then a loud sniff. "Y-yes! Yes, I'll marry you!"

Shepard clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her squeal of joy. When Locke and Eliza came back inside, and Eliza held up her right hand to show an engagement ring, Shepard ran up and embraced them both.

"Congratulations!" Shepard's words were echoed by most of the others there. The exception was Gotrek, who seemed content to drink in the corner.

"Now we've got a _real_ reason to party!"

For the rest of the night, Shepard allowed herself to forget all about the horrors she'd gone through over the last few years. For that night, Shepard truly felt at home.

…

Though Shepard's part in the war was over, the Empire was still dealing with threats. A handful of Henrietta's subordinates, mostly lesser Vampires and Necromancers, had escaped the final battle. A few of them were killed by Witch Hunters, but the rest escaped into the swamps of Sylvania. Rather than risk sending armies in there to be ambushed, Karl Franz ordered permanent patrols of that land's borders, commanded by those same Witch Hunters. The sheer number of Henrietta's armies suggested that Sylvania's dead had almost entirely been used up in her war, so even if a new army was raised, it wouldn't be large enough to be a serious threat.

It wasn't just the undead that were an issue. The Skaven had scattered across the provinces in an effort to find food for their starving masses, and large bands of them had attacked several villages. The Reiksmarshal was very busy for the next several weeks as he led the Reiksguard and local Knightly Orders in countering these assaults. Months later, after the last such band had been destroyed, the Empire would hear rumors of Skaven in other lands, trying to set up a new capital, but continuously opposed by every other nation. Some even began to hope that the Skaven would die out without a steady source of slaves and food. Whatever the result, the Skaven had all but vanished from the Empire.

Shepard might not have been involved in the last battles, but she was still busy. She used her considerable wealth and influence to get support from Wissenland to help rebuild Stirland. Emmanuelle had already pledged her province's support, but some of the nobles were dragging their feet; that changed when Shepard and the Elector Countess paid them personal visits. During this early period of the reconstruction, Shepard did what she could to provide food and lodgings for the thousands of refugees that were waiting to return home.

While Shepard was forced to play politics, Gregor took over the army, and supervised recruitment, resupply, and training. It would take time to rebuild their forces, but the veterans quickly whipped the new recruits into shape.

Not long after Shepard assured everyone that she was fine, Gotrek and Felix took their leave, the former mentioning going after a Dragon. Felix promised to return and see David, and actually left without complaining. Gotrek was clearly surprised by his companion's resolve, and commented that having a child had been good for him. The pair would have left sooner, but Shepard convinced the Dwarf to allow Felix to say goodbye to David. The farewell had been quiet, but when David smiled at his father, Felix left in high spirits.

There were happier times as well. Two months after the war, Locke and Eliza were married; aside from Locke's brother, there was no one in the family that he was close to, and Eliza had no blood relatives left. However, every single one of their friends in the army were present, as was Marius Leitdorf; the Count had been invited as a courtesy, but everyone had been surprised when he had actually shown up. He also presented the newlyweds with gifts—a fine sword for Locke, and jewelry for Eliza.

Shepard presented the couple with gifts of her own. For Eliza, she gave a workshop of her own, to pursue her own projects and ideas. For Locke, she offered a promotion to the rank of captain; after his years of service, she felt that it was more than deserved. She also quietly offered Richter a promotion as well, but he declined; he felt comfortable leading a single unit, and thought that Locke could handle the extra responsibilities.

With that handled, Shepard allowed herself to be lost in the joy of her friends' wedding.

…

After the celebrations, everyone went home—and a blushing Eliza Locke spent her first night with her husband. Shepard spent part of the night making sure that David was fast asleep, then settled down in her own bed. However, sleep eluded her; there was still so much to do, plans to make, and a million other thoughts that swirled through her mind.

 _Center yourself,_ Shepard thought. _Focus on one thing, and you'll eventually fall asleep._

She sat back up and opened up the drawer by her bed. Shepard hesitated for just a moment, and then pulled her tags out.

Though she had dismissed it at the time, since David's kidnapping had been more important, Shepard was surprised that Henrietta had found her ID tags. The tags might have been dented and scorched, but they were all that Shepard had from back home.

"I wonder how things are back home," she mused. "Assuming the Reapers are gone, and when everyone finishes rebuilding, what are they doing now?" She smiled. "I bet Garrus is bored out of his mind; there're probably only pirates to shoot at now."

A part of her wished that she was in that same situation—just trying to find some normalcy after the Reaper War. But if that happened, she wouldn't have had David. It amazed her how her perspective had changed since her son had been born. She still wanted to return home, but she knew that if she couldn't take David with her, she'd give up the opportunity in a heartbeat. Her only regret was that none of her friends from back home would be able to see David; she was sure that they would all love him, especially Kasumi and Garrus.

As she watched the tags sway in her hand and thought about her old life, she came to a realization: She was no longer just trying to get back home, she was trying to get back to her _other_ home.

Shepard sat up and reached over to hold David. He was still asleep, and barely moved when his mother picked him up.

"I _will_ take you with me," she promised. "If I can't do that, then I'll make sure that you have a safe place to live and a family that loves you." She kissed the top of his head. "No matter what happens, you will have a tomorrow."

…

In the forests outside Nuln, a figure stepped into a clearing. Despite his heavy armor, he didn't make a sound as he approached his goal. Dropping to one knee, he scooped up a pile of ash and sneered.

"Thou hast set back mine plans, foolish cousin," he said in a rich, cultured voice. "However, had thou not been blinded by thine own thirst for vengeance, thou would have been a great warrior. Under mine control, perhaps thou shalt redeem thyself…"

 **Okay, so a few things need to be clarified:**

 **First, there was a lot of wrap-up here. Yes, things seemed taken care of quickly, thanks to time-skips and stuff, but that's because Shepard wasn't a part of it. Since she's the focus of the story, I don't feel like I should follow the Reiksmarshal as he slaughters a bunch of Skaven.**

 **Second, no, it didn't all work out: Eliza lost an arm, an entire province is devastated, and thousands of people are dead. Granted, the Empire never seems to run out of bodies, but it's still a big deal. Stirland will not play a role in this story for a long time… maybe not ever. I haven't decided yet, but I've had three separate battles take place in or near Stirland at this point, so I think things need to change.**

 **Third, I skimmed over some of the post-battle stuff. I didn't want to deal with Volkmar and his fanatics possibly attack Khalida (it has nothing to do with the fact that she's my favorite Tomb King character and one of my favorite Warhammer characters, shut up), so I just decided to let the Tomb Queen peace out, with a promise to help Shepard if she needs it. Why? Because it gives me an excuse to bring her back, and because she's possibly one of the noblest characters in this world, my own bias be damned.**

 **Fourth, Felix's reaction. Umm… I got nothin' here. I didn't want Felix to have a sitcom-style freakout, and I didn't want him to get mad. It's not like Shepard had a way to contact him. Also, Felix has had several romantic entanglements, some of whom he truly loved, and he was (kinda) mature about it. Also, I wouldn't be surprised if he had a bunch of illegitimate kids running around.**

 **Fifth, Eliza's new arm. It's not like I gave her a fully-functioning limb; it's probably closer to what we've had over the last decade or so. I can't say that for sure, since I have all four of my limbs, and I don't follow the news about developments in prosthetics. If I find out that someone developed an arm that can shoot rockets, then I'll pay attention.**

 **And, yes, that last scene is going to piss you all off. It pisses** _ **me**_ **off, but I have a plan, and Shepard deserves the chance to 1-v-1 Henrietta and kick her undead ass.**

 **Sorry for not updating sooner, especially with a shorter chapter, but I've been busy with… life. Stuff's been happening, especially with my book. I encourage you all to follow the link in my profile to my website, where you can get a free preview of my book! It costs you nothing, so go on and give it a chance! Besides, if you buy my book, it gives me less to stress about, and more free time to write fan fiction! See? It all comes back to helping you guys!**

 **Next Chapter: Shepard and her army recovers just in time for the next shard to fall!**

 **Burn in the Muffin's name, heretic!**


	31. The New World, Part 1

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. I USED TO HAVE A PET LIZARD, BUT AFTER HE DIED, HE WAS SUMMONED BY THE SLANN AND BECAME A SAURUS. HE'S AWESOME NOW.**

 **You asked, I answered the call. Onward, to adventure!**

Honor-Bound

Chapter 31

The New World, Part 1

" _The Lustria campaign was… weird. Don't get me wrong, we did good work over there, and I even made some new friends, but I still get headaches when I think about it."—General Alexia Shepard_

…

"No, no, absolutely not." Shepard leveled the full force of her glare, a glare that had cowed even veteran Krogan warriors, upon Eliza.

"But I can do this!" To her credit, Eliza managed to hold firm for almost ten seconds.

"If I couldn't do it then, there's no way in hell that I'm letting you do it now."

Eliza pouted, but finally gave in. "All right, I'll handle the designs."

"Thank you!" Shepard rolled her eyes. "I'm not asking you to stop working, I just don't want you breathing in anything dangerous while you're _pregnant_!"

Only a few weeks after coming back from their honeymoon, Locke and Eliza had announced that they were expecting a child. Shepard had immediately pulled both of them into a bone-crushing hug, and promised them that if they needed anything from her, they would have it. Still, she had been surprised and humbled when Eliza asked if she would be the godmother to their unborn child.

The only problem had been when Eliza came back to work; while she was a Master Engineer in her own right, and could have her own workshop, she still wanted to work under Shepard. Now that she was pregnant, there was no way that Shepard was going to let her near anything that might have the slightest chance of impacting her pregnancy.

With Eliza now agreeing to her terms, Shepard went back to overseeing her primary factory. New engineers had had to be brought in after Henrietta's assassin had killed so many of them, but there was no shortage of volunteers willing to work for Shepard. Productivity was up—including a dozen new Steam Tanks, with more on the way—as was Shepard's revenue; over the last few months, most of the money had gone into helping the rebuilding of Stirland, but it would be years before that province recovered.

The rest of the Empire, thankfully, was handling the aftermath of the war much better. Wissenland, Reikland, and Averland in particular had gained much prestige during the war, earning them political and financial clout. Barring some unforeseen disaster, those three provinces looked to be the most powerful members of the Empire for a long time.

"Hey, Leitzer!" Shepard leaned out of her office and waved the man over. "Did we get word about that shipment to Nordland?"

"Yes, a letter just arrived." Leitzer slowly limped over. "A thousand new rifles, a hundred pieces of artillery, and additional shot and powder arrived through Marienburg. That should help secure the north against raiders."

Although he had survived his injuries, Leitzer had never fully recovered. He required a cane to steady himself, and he ached constantly. Because of this, he preferred working on designs and managing the business aspects of Shepard's life.

"Good." Shepard stepped aside to let Leitzer in, and moved a chair over for him. "Can you take over? I have a meeting with Gregor."

"Of course, General." Leitzer glanced to the other side of the room. "Will you be taking David?"

Shepard turned and smiled; David was sitting in Eliza's lap, steadied by her prosthetic arm while her other hand sketched out designs and modifications on her desk. David seemed confused by the noticeable bulge Eliza now sported, and kept poking her.

"Hey, little man." Shepard kissed the top of his head. "I've gotta go for a bit, so be good for Auntie Eliza, okay? We'll all go home when I'm done."

David still didn't understand most words, but he did recognize the name of his 'aunt'. "Liza!"

Shepard smiled again, gently hugged Eliza, and headed out. All that was left was this one meeting, and then she could not only go home early, but look forward to a day off.

…

The barracks was noisier than it had been just a few weeks ago, Shepard noted. The last of the replacements for her losses were now training hard, under the watchful eyes of Richter and Locke.

"Hey, guys," Shepard said cheerfully. "How are the newbies shaping up?"

Richter huffed. "They're green as an Orc's ass, General, but they'll get there."

Shepard fought not to laugh at Richter's colorful phrasing.

"Speak for yourself," Locke said. "I've sent fifty of my men to the Ironrock Knights this week; if even half of them make the cut, our noble Grand Master will have more knights than before he joined us!"

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Shepard paused, then lightly smacked Locke on the shoulder. "Your wife is trying to work harder than she should. In my experience, that means you haven't been paying as much attention to her."

Locke actually looked offended. "General, surely you jest! I assure you that I have been the perfect husband."

"I know, I'm just messing with you." Shepard grinned. "And don't call me Shirley."

Although no one else got the reference, Shepard laughed and continued on her way, waving and smiling at the more veteran soldiers she passed by. She sobered when she realized just how few of her original troops, the ones who had fought with her at Middenheim, were left. There couldn't be more than two hundred of them.

It had been four years since she had come to this world. Shepard hoped that at least some of her first soldiers would be there to see their mission through.

All of Shepard's thoughts came to a screeching halt when she entered the meeting room. There, standing next to Gregor, was Gettmann. The Wizard bowed his head upon her arrival.

"General Shepard," he said solemnly, "another shard has been revealed."

…

What should have been a peaceful evening for Shepard had turned into a whirlwind of activity. Soldiers were readied, supplies were gathered, and messages to and from both Karl Franz and Emmanuelle were delivered by the fastest messengers.

Gathered for the emergency meeting were the army's leaders—Gregor, Locke, Richter, Parral, Gettmann, Michael and, of course, Shepard—a group that someone had started calling the 'Shard Council'. Shepard didn't know who had given them that name, but it had stuck. Leitzer and Eliza were also present; the latter had David propped up with her prosthetic, while her other hand held that of her husband.

Shepard started things off. "Now that we're getting ready, we can actually discuss where we're going. Gettmann?"

"This shard will be difficult to reach," Gettmann began. "Primarily because it is not even on this continent."

"Don't tell me it's in Norsca," Richter groaned.

"No. In fact, it is much farther away." Gettmann put aside the map of the Empire, and pulled out one for the entire world. "This one is in the New World… in the jungles of Lustria."

No one moved for a moment. Shepard's eyes drifted across the map, to the poorly-charted continent that looked like South America.

"All right," Shepard said quietly, "what do we know?"

"My brethren and I shared the same vision," Gettmann said. "We saw a golden shard fall from the sky, into the depths of a jungle; nearby was a city that surrounded a massive pyramid. The rest of the vision was less clear. We saw a great reptile battling a spotted cat and a snake, and a stone gateway that reached out to the stars." He sighed. "I wish that I knew more."

Shepard reached for the nearest chair and sat down. This expedition was hard to think about. The last two shards had been in Imperial territory—well, Marienburg was close enough that Shepard counted it—and had been close to David. The first shard had been outside the Empire, yes, but that had been before David had been born. Now, she was considering a trip to the other side of the world, with no guarantee of coming back. She couldn't take David with her; such a trip across the sea was too dangerous for an infant, but the thought of being separated from him for what would probably be months made her heart ache.

The others noticed Shepard's change in mood, and realized the cause. They all understood—especially Locke, who would likely miss the birth of his first child if he went along. It was Eliza who broke the silence. She gently placed David in Shepard's arms, and then hugged her.

"We will be here when you get back," she whispered. "Nothing will ever happen to us again. I promise."

Shepard remembered the shy, quiet little girl that she had taken on as an apprentice. It was hard to compare that girl to the strong, determined young woman she saw now.

 _Everyone's growing up,_ she thought sadly. _God, that makes me feel old._

"Okay." Shepard stood up. "We're doing this. But if we're going to Lustria, we're going to need a boat."

Richter paled. "I take it back, Norsca is fine."

…

It turned out that Shepard needed more than one ship to carry her army and everything it needed. In fact, she ended up commandeering five ships, the newest to come off the shipyards. While they had sails like most Imperial vessels, these also had steam engines, larger variants of the ones Shepard had built for her tanks. It took another week of preparation—it would have been longer, but the authority of both Emmanuelle and the Emperor himself sped up the process—but the army was ready to sail.

Every spare moment that Shepard had was spent at home. With Eliza's husband busy with the army and her growing baby, she had moved back into Shepard's house—save for one night, where Locke had taken her back home, something that made Eliza blush and Shepard smirk.

"There's going to be round-the-clock security," Shepard said during the hours before she had to leave, her tone serious, even as she rolled a ball to David, who giggled and rolled it back. "Emmanuelle has promised some of her personal guard, and if you think you're not safe, you can stay in her manor. It's the most secure place in Nuln."

"I'll be sure to thank the Elector Countess," Eliza said. She sat on a rocking chair, sipping a cup of tea.

"You'll also have a doctor and a Jade Wizard on hand, if you go into labor before we get back."

Eliza frowned. "You need all the Wizards you can get for the expedition!"

"Don't worry, he's not one of ours," Shepard assured her. "He's too old for battle, and he usually sits around at the Jade College. He owed Parral a favor, so he'll be here to take care of you."

Eliza muttered something that Shepard couldn't hear. "What was that?"

"I said I'd rather have Elias taking care of me." Eliza's face had turned an interesting shade of red.

Shepard blinked, then grinned and held her hands over David's ears; he didn't understand what they were saying anyway, but it was funny. "Just how good _is_ that man in bed?"

"Alexia!"

Shepard just laughed for a good while, before sobering again. "Seriously, though, thanks for looking after David while I'm gone. Not just this time, but every time before this."

Eliza smiled. "That's what family is for, right?"

"Yeah, it is." Shepard picked up David and put him in Eliza's lap before giving the younger woman a hug. "Stay safe, little sister."

"You're the one going into a jungle on the other side of the world," Eliza said, but returned the hug. "I should be telling _you_ to be safe, big sister."

"I'll be fine; I've got Stormwing." Shepard grinned. "And I have family to come home to."

"And that family will be waiting for you." Eliza's smile grew shy, but also a little excited. "Possibly bigger than when you left it."

"I can't wait." With one last smile at Eliza and a kiss on David's forehead, Shepard left. For some reason, her heart felt lighter than previous missions. Perhaps it was hope that things would be better.

…

Stormwing let out another screech as he flew circles around the lead ship. As the only creature that could really stretch his wings, both figuratively and literally, he took full advantage of it.

"I'm glad he's enjoying the trip," Parral grumbled as he leaned against the deck railing.

"He's seen nothing but cities and forests," Shepard pointed out as she breathed in the fresh sea air. "Plus, he brings back fish sometimes."

"Speaking of fish," Parral pointed up, "it looks like he got another one."

Stormwing cawed happily as he dropped a massive tuna—one nearly as big as a warhorse—at Shepard's feet and landed on the deck. Aside from a few cuts from the Griffon's talons, the fish was in perfect shape, and would probably make for a great dinner.

"Good boy!" Shepard praised, petting Stormwing's head like he was a giant puppy. "Who's a good Griffon? You are! Yes, you are!"

It had been a week since the expedition had left; there had been much fanfare as the citizens and nobles of Nuln had watched their hero set off. Some of the troops had joked that the party would be even bigger once they came back victorious. The rest just wanted to reach land again, especially when they found out that the trip would take at least another month, even with the new steam engines and if they had favorable winds the entire way.

Sailing across the ocean was different than the trip to Karak Eight Peaks. While the river voyage had been relatively fast, there had been a grim tension in the air, with ambushes expected around every corner. On the open ocean, though, they could see for miles in all directions, and the lookouts constantly reported that all was clear.

That didn't help many of the soldiers who had never set foot on a boat before; seasickness had been rampant for the first few days, and the Jade Wizards had been busy making sure that it didn't turn into something worse. The most severe cases, such as Richter, were no longer vomiting, but they could barely stand; Parral gave them another few days before they could move normally again.

The rest of the army was conducting drills and exercising as much as could be done on a cramped ship. Every day, two hours were dedicated to letting the men exercise and spar on the deck; rather than waste ammunition, those armed with guns were taught ballistic trajectory and other useful mathematics by Shepard and the artillery crews. Another hour was given to the horses, letting them stretch their legs and keep in shape by galloping across the deck.

There had been a close call on the third day of the voyage; a Pistolier's horse had slipped and fell overboard, though Stormwing had managed to lift the terrified beast back onto the deck in time.

"All right, I'll have this taken to the cooks," Shepard said, nudging the fish with her boot. "I think they like making something that isn't beef or chicken."

"I certainly don't mind," Parral said.

After sending Stormwing to his pen and taking care of a few minor matters, Shepard made her way to her cabin. The captain of the ship had graciously offered it to her, and while she would have refused, there were so many maps, plans, and other paperwork that she had to handle that she simply needed the room.

There was also her equipment. Carefully secure in one chest was Unbak Urk and Spellmaw, while another chest held her repeater pistol and rifle, as well as the ammunition. Next to the chests was a stand that held her new armor.

After Henrietta had been done with it, Shepard's armor was little more than ruined scrap; the only thing that had been salvaged was her wolf-helm. As a token of appreciation for what she had done against the Vampires, Middenheim had decided to send her a set of armor that matched the helm.

The suit of plate armor was similar to her lost set in terms of functionality, but it was far more ornate. The shoulders were both sculpted to look like the heads of snarling wolves, and intricate carvings of the animal were made across the plates. The only addition Shepard made was her red and white stripes that went down the right arm.

Unlike the helm, the armor didn't have any magical properties, but Shepard had taken it to a Gold Wizard and had it enchanted to keep the wearer protected against the elements. It didn't completely block out cold and heat, but in a sweltering jungle, she wasn't likely to suffer from heatstroke. Inspired by this, she had used some of the army's cash reserves to have the same enchantments placed on the knights' heavy plate, as well as the barding of their horses. The knights, many of whom either came from noble families or had earned their position from Locke's detachment and had a higher pay, immediately began putting some of their own money back into the coffers to pay her back.

With a sigh, Shepard ran her hand over the painted stripes. Some of the followers of Ulric had made some halfhearted protests about the addition, but she never felt comfortable in any armor unless it had those stripes, even if it wasn't her original Onyx suit. When asked, she always said that those stripes kept her safe. Some of her friends back in the Alliance had made fun of her little superstition, but nearly every N7 had some eccentricity regarding their gear, and since Shepard had even come back from the dead after wearing armor with the stripes, she had long ago stopped doubting it.

Sighing again, she sat at her desk to tackle the mountain of paperwork. Most of it was just signing off on reports from her officers, but a few required her personal attention, like requests to disassemble the _Mako_ for extensive maintenance, which she would have to oversee. It wasn't that she didn't trust the crew of the tank, but she knew the design better than anyone alive, and if even a single screw was out of place, she would know.

"Sometimes, I think I should have stuck to the engineering classes," Shepard muttered. "I could have just stayed in a lab and designed stuff, and the biggest problem would be my budget. None of this world-saving crap."

Putting aside her gripes, Shepard went back to work. She just hoped that she'd be able to get it all done by the time they reached Lustria.

…

A full month passed before the ships spotted land. By then, the men were giving praise to Sigmar that the voyage was over; there was only so many drills they could do before they went crazy.

"Looks nice enough," Shepard commented as she watched the thin line of green grow larger.

"I've heard stories," Locke said, "of swarms of serpents, lizards that walk upright and wield weapons, and monsters that can eat a man in a single bite."

"To be fair, that last one applies to the Empire," Shepard pointed out. "Still, if we have to fight in a jungle, don't be surprised if your guys and the knights have to fight on foot."

In preparation for fighting in this new terrain, the light cavalry had been training as heavy skirmishing infantry, while the knights worked alongside the Greatswords, putting aside lances for shields and war-picks. Only Gregor and the ten Inner Circle Knights who rode Demigryphs could remain mounted, since their steeds were able to handle the terrain. Shepard could also stay above the jungle canopies with Stormwing.

What worried Shepard was that the jungle might all but negate the standard formations that the Empire was used to. As such, she had organized her forces to operate in a smaller scale; Handgunners would be grouped with Swordsmen and Halberdiers into semi-independent companies, while Shepard would deploy her more elite forces as she saw fit. Each company had at least one Jade Wizard attached to it, though their main task was to keep the men from catching any diseases the jungle was sure to throw at them.

"Anyway, get the boats ready, we'll start unloading as soon as possible." Shepard said. "I want your men on the beaches first, Locke; you're our beachhead."

Locke saluted. "By my honor, General."

Shepard saluted back. "Just don't get killed, Elias. I'm not letting Eliza become a widow, and your kid _will_ grow up with their father."

"Much appreciated, General."

Another hour passed, and then the ships were close enough to launch the first wave of boats. Locke and his most veteran Outriders hit the beaches with repeaters leveled at the jungle not far ahead. Thankfully, nothing emerged from the trees, but the men grimly held their position as the boats were rowed back and forth, bringing the rest of the Outriders and Pistoliers to hold the small section of beach.

Alongside the smaller boats that held the infantry, specially designed craft were also launched, which held the horses and large crates of supplies. Two of these boats spent a full hour going back and forth from the ships, bringing the pieces of the _Mako_ to be assembled on the beach. Throughout the entire process, Shepard sat on Stormwing, armed and armored and keeping a watchful eye on her men. Despite the dangers of entering a completely unknown continent, the troops' morale was high, knowing that their general watched over them.

The sun was just starting to set by the time everything was unloaded onto the beach. Lines of tents were prepared as the men settled in for the night. Shepard used the excuse that Gettmann required the stars to properly chart their next destination, but everyone knew that she just wanted to give them one night of proper sleep before they set out. Sentries were posted, meals were distributed, and Michael gave an evening sermon before he and the other officers assembled in the command tent.

"Anyone else feel like things are going too fast?" Shepard asked mildly. "No one is freaking out that we're on the other side of the world?"

"The men had plenty of time to do that on the voyage here," Gregor replied. "Many of the new recruits are treating it as a grand adventure."

"That'll change as soon as we have a battle," Richter grumbled. Shepard noticed that he was swaying slightly.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

To her amusement, Richter actually blushed. "I spent so long getting used to being on the damn ship, I'm having a little trouble being on solid ground again."

"Sleep it off," Parral advised, just as amused as Shepard.

"Probably a good idea for all of us to do the same," Shepard added. "I'll bet that some of the boys will realize how big this mission is once the shock wears off. We can discuss our plans tomorrow."

There were murmurs of agreement, and the meeting was adjourned, albeit prematurely. Shepard made her way to her own tent, followed closely by Stormwing, who let out a crooning noise. It hadn't been the first time the Griffon had made that sound since they had left, and Shepard had quickly figured out what it meant.

"I know, I miss David too," she said, patting his beak. "Hopefully, we'll be back soon… god, he's going to be so big when we get back." She glared at Stormwing. "Thanks for that depressing thought."

Stormwing didn't understand the words, and just tilted his head. The innocent look on such a fearsome creature was enough to make Shepard laugh again.

"Goodnight, buddy. See you tomorrow."

…

The sun had just started to rise when Shepard awoke. She immediately knew that something was wrong when she felt a sharp blade pressed against her throat. If she wasn't already dead, then that meant that her attacker wanted her alive. Very slowly, so as not to startle whoever was threatening her, Shepard opened her eyes.

At first, she had flashbacks to Marienburg, because the woman standing over her was scantily dressed as a Witch Elf. Unlike the Elves who had tried to kill her, this woman was more muscular, and her outfit was made of leather and furs. Black tribal tattoos covered her left arm, complementing her tanned skin. Her hair was concealed by the pelt of a jaguar. In one hand, she held a stone-tipped spear, while the other held an obsidian dagger to Shepard's throat.

When the woman saw that Shepard was awake, she narrowed her eyes, but otherwise didn't move.

Shepard took a deep breath, and then raised an eyebrow. "Who the hell are you?"

 **Boom! Cliffhanger for the holidays, and almost certainly the last chapter of 2017!**

 **That's right, Shepard went to Lustria! You wanted it, and I delivered! And I brought everyone's favorite minor faction (well, mine, because I actually like their lore), the Amazons!**

 **Not a whole lot else to say in this chapter, other than a simple sailboat would certainly take longer than 5 weeks to sail from the Empire to Lustria. Thankfully, steam engines are a thing now. Hooray.**

 **Now, I'm going to be taking a bit of a break from fan fiction again (not too long, but I'm giving myself some leeway here) to work on my book. Just remember, if you buy said book, I'll have money, and that means I'll have more time to work on stories here, because I won't be worrying about things like money. Just head on over to my profile page to find my website link, and remember, the first chapter is free!**

 **Next Chapter: Amazons attack, but Shepard isn't their target. Who are these mysterious warrior-women, and what is their connection to the shard?**

 **To the ignorant, they are known as… Muffinmen.**


End file.
